twmitjr  af  Calif qnut. 


Received  ...... 


1  87  -> 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 


GIFT  OF 


WILLIAM  OILMAN  THOMPSON. 


IDYLS  OF  BATTLE 


ASD 


POEMS   OF  THE  REBELLION. 


BY   HOWARD    GLYNDON. 

(LAURA  c.  KEDDEN.) 

i  ~ty\-)-j  .  fSc<i  T-tTiff  t  ( in  wA~  ) 


God !  how  this  land  grows  rich  in  loyal  blood 
Poured  out  upon  it  to  its  utmost  length  ; 

The  incense  of  a  nation's  sacrifice  — 
The  wrested  offering  of  a  nation's  strength  ! 

It  is  the  costliest  land  beneath  the  sun ! 

'T  is  priceless,  purchaseless  !    And  not  a  rood 
But  hath  its  title  written  clear,  and  signed 

In  some  slain  hero's  consecrated  blood  ! 


NEW  YORK: 
PUBLISHED  BY  HURD  AND   HOUGHTON, 

401   BROADWAY,    COR.    WALKER  ST. 

1864. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1864,  by 

HURD   AND   IIOUGHTON, 

in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  Southern  District 
of  New  York. 


RIVERSIDE,    CAMBRIDGE  : 

STEREOTYPED    AND    PRINTED    BY 

H.    0.   IIOUGHTON  AND   COMPANY. 


S3 12 


To  ONE 

WHOSE   QUIET  WORDS   OF   PRAISE  WOULD   MAKE   ME   PROUD 
EST  OF  ALL;  BUT  WHOSE  NAME  is  TOO  SACRED  TO 

BE   WRITTEN   UPON  THIS   PAGE: 

WHO  WAS  TO  MY  PAST,   IN  THE   HIGHEST   SENSE 
OF   THE   WORDS, 

FRIEND  AND   COUNSELLOR, 

AND    WHOSE   PRESENCE   IN   THE   HEREAFTER   WILL   BE 
DEAREST   TO   ME,   AFTER   GOD'S, 

K  consecrate  t!)fs, 

MY    FIRST    ENDEAVOR. 

Shall  not  the  earnest  spirit  plead  for  the  untried  hand  ? 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

PREFACE  TO  SUBSCRIBERS'  EDITION 1 

IN  TIME  OF  WAR 5 

LEFT  ON  THE  BATTLE-FIELD 8 

To  THE  EARNEST  THINKERS 10 

AFTER  THE  VICTORIES 12 

DE  PROFUNDIS 15 

FOR  THE    STRICKEN 17 

THE  STORY  OF  SUMTER 19 

WATCH-NIGHT • 24 

THE  LEGEND  OF  OUR  VICTORIES 27 

THE  LATEST  WAR  NEWS 33 

MITCHELL 36 

THE  FALL  OF  LEXINGTON,  MISSOURI 38 

COME  WE  TO  THIS  ? 41 

BAKER 43 

OUR  SACRIFICE 45 

UNION  FOREVER 48 

RESURGAM 52 

ON  THE  DEAD  LIST 54 

BELLE  MISSOURI 57 

DOUGLAS 60 

THE  SNOW  IN  OCTOBER 63 

To  A  HERO,  WITH  A  SWORD 67 

To  A  PATRIOT 69 


vi  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 
VlCKSBURG 71 

LOYALTY'S  LAST  EFFORT 73 

AN  APPEAL 76 

TRUTH  is  INVINCIBLE 81 

RANKED  HIGHER 83 

THE  SNOW  AT  FREDERICKSBURG 85 

THE  BATTLE  OF   GETTYSBURG 88 

THE  GRAVES  OF   GETTYSBURG 92 

THE  RANSOMED   BANNER 95 

BRINGING  HIM  HOME 98 

PREACHING  IN  CAMP 103 

JEFFERSON  DAVIS 106 

THE  PRESIDENT'S  PROCLAMATION 109 

A  GREETING  FOR  A  NEW  YEAR ill 

A  SUPPLICATION 114 

THE   VOLUNTEER'S   RETURN 116 

OUR  CAUSE 120 

MY  ABSENT  SOLDIER  •  •  •  • 126 

L.  IT.  R. 129 

MY  STORY 130 

WAITING  FOR  VICTORY 134 

CHARGE  OF  BLAIR'S  BRIGADE  AT  VICKSBURG  137 

LOST  IN  THE  WILDERNESS 139 

BUTLER'S  BLACK  BRIGADE 142 

To  A.  E. 145 

KENTUCKY'S  CRITTENDEN 146 

THE  QUIET  MAN 148 

H.  T.  B. 150 

THE  LAST  POEM 151 


PREFACE   TO   SUBSCRIBERS'  EDITION. 


TO  the  gentlemen  whose  names  follow 
these  lines  I  owe  most  cordial  and 
grateful  acknowledgments  for  friendly  en 
couragement  and  active  cooperation  with 
me  in  the  work  of  getting  out  this  volume. 
One  and  all,  they  have  my  most  fervent 
thanks. 

Hon.  A.  LINCOLN,  President  U.  S. 

U.  S.  GRANT,  Lieut.-General  U.  S. 

Hon.  J.  A.  GRISWOLD,  M.  C.,  Troy,  New  York. 

H.  D.  BACON,  Esq.,  St.  Louis,  Missouri. 

Hon.  H.  T.  BLOW,  M.  C.,  St.  Louis,  Missouri. 

Hon.  JOHN  P.  HALE,  United  States  Senate,  New 
Hampshire. 

Hon.  JOHN  CONNESS,  U.  S.  S.,  San  Francisco, 
California. 

Hon.  TIMON  O.  HOWE,  U.  S.  S.,  Wisconsin. 

Maj.-Gen.  L.  H.  ROUSSEAU,  Army  of  the  Ohio. 

Hon.  ROBERT  C.  SCHENCK,  M.  C.,  Ohio. 

Hon.  HENRY  WILSON,  U.  S.  S.,  Massachusetts. 

Col.  H.  S.  McCoMB,  Wilmington,  Delaware. 

Ex-Gov.  E.  D.  MORGAN,  U.  S.  S.,  New  York. 

Hon.  E.  DELAFIELD  SMITH,  U.  S.  District  Attor 
ney,  New  York. 


2  PREFACE 

J.  W.  PARRISH,  Esq.,  St.  Louis,  Missouri. 

SAMUEL  HALLETT,  Esq.,  New  York.* 

Hon.  SCHUYLER  COLFAX,  M.  C.,  Indiana. 

Hon.  JOHN  B.  STEELE,  M.  C.,  Kingston,  New 
York. 

JOHN  D.  PERRY,  Esq.,  St.  Louis,  Missouri. 

Hon.  J.  A.  GARFIKLD,  M.  C.,  Ohio. 

Dr.  W.  K.  MEHAFFEY,  Washington,  D.  C. 

Hon.  J.  A.CRAVKXS,  M.  C.,  Hardensburgh,  Indiana. 

Hon.  B.  F.  LOAN,  M.  C.,  St.  Joseph,  Missouri. 

Hon.  J.  W.  McCLURG,  M.  C.,  Linn  Creek,  Missouri. 

Hon.  B.  VAN  VALKENBURG,  M.  C.,  Bath,  New 
York. 

Hon.  E.  C.  INGERSOLL,  M.  C.,  Peoria,  Illinois. 

Hon.  JOHN  G.  SCOTT,  M.  C.,  Irondale,  Missouri. 

Hon.  WM.  D.  KELLEY,  M.  C.,  Philadelphia,  Pa. 

Hon.  J.  A.  J.  CRESWELL,  M.  C.,  Elkton,  Md. 

Hon.  FRANCISCO  PEREA,  Delegate  from  New 
Mexico. 

Hon.  AUGUSTUS  FRANK,  M.  C.,  New  York. 

Hon.  LUCIAN  ANDERSON,  M.  C.,  Mayfield,  Ky. 

Hon.  E.  H.  WEBSTER,  M.  C.,  Belair,  Md. 

Hon.  BEN.  WOOD,  M.  C.,  New  York  City. 

Hon.  THOS.  T.  DAVIS,  M.  C.,  Syracuse,  New  York. 

Ex-Gov.  WM.  SPRAGUE,  U.  S.  S.,  Rhode  Island. 

Hon.  SAMUEL  HOOPER,  M.  C.,  Boston,  Mass. 

Hon.  LEWIS  W.  Ross,  M.  C.,  Lewistown,  111. 

Hon.  T.  W.  KELLOGG,  M.  C.,  Grand  Rapids,  Mich 
igan. 

Hon.  GREEN  CLAY  SMITH,  M.  C.,  Covington,  Ky. 

J.  B.  STEWART,  Esq.,  Washington,  D.  C. 

*  Deceased. 


TO  SUBSCRIBERS'  EDITION.          3 

Hon.  NEHEMIAH  PERRY,  M.  C.,  Newark,  New 
Jersey. 

Hon.  C.  H.  WINFIELD,  M.  C.,  Goshen,  New  York. 

Hon.  H.  P.  BENNETT,  Delegate  from  Colorado  Ter 
ritory. 

Hon.  J.  F.  FARNSWORTH,  M.  C.,  St.  Charles,  111. 

Hon.  J.  A.  JENKES,  M.  C.,  Providence,  R.  I. 

Hon.  N.  B.  SMITHERS,  M.  C.,  Dover,  Delaware. 

Hon.  THOS.  D  ELIOT,  M.  C.,  New  Bedford,  Mass. 

Hon.  H.  C.  DEMING,  M.  C.,  Hartford,  Connecticut. 

Hon.  LEONARD  MYERS,  M.  C.,  Philadelphia,  Pa. 

Hon.  J.  O'NKiL,  M.  C.,  Zanesville,  Ohio. 

Hon.  W.  B.  ALLISON,  M.  C.,  Dubuque,  Iowa. 

Hon.  WM.  HIGBY,  M.  C.,  California. 

Hon.  CORNELIUS  COLE,  M.  C.,  California. 

Hon.  M.  F.  ODELL,  M.  C.,  New  York. 


fRv       *4 

Librar 

IN  TIME   OF   WAR.     N^     Of  Calif<,TiiVa 

r INHERE  are  white  faces  in  each  sunny 
street, 

And  signs  of  trouble  meet  us  everywhere  ; 
The  nation's  pulse  hath  an  unsteady  beat, 

For  scents  of  battle  foul  the  summer  air. 

A  thrill  goes  through  the  city's  busy  life, 
And  then  —  as  when  a  strong  man  stints 

his  breath  — 

A  stillness  comes  ;  and  each  one  in  his  place 
Waits  for  the  news  of  triumph,  loss,  and 
death. 

The  "  Extras  "  fall  like  rain  upon  a  drought, 
And   startled   people   crowd    around    the 
board 


6  IN  TIME   OF    WAR. 

Whereon  the  nation's  sum  of  loss  or  gain 
In  rude  and  hurried  characters  is  scored. 

Perhaps  it  is  a  glorious  triumph-gleam  — 
An  earnest  of  our  Future's  recompense ; 

Perhaps  it  is  a  story  of  defeat, 

Which  smite th  like  a  fatal  pestilence. 

But  whether  Failure  darkens  all  the  land, 
Or  whether  Victory  sets  its  blood  ablaze, 

An  awful  cry,  a  mighty  throb  of  pain, 

Shall  scare  the  sweetness  from  these  sum 
mer  days. 

Young  hearts  shall  bleed,  and  older  hearts 
shall  break, 

A  sense  of  loss  shall  be  in  many  a  place  ; 
And  oh,  the  bitter  nights  I  the  weary  days  ! 

The  sharp  desire  for  many  a  buried  face  ! 

God  I   how   this   land   grows   rich   in   loyal 

blood, 
Poured  out  upon  it  to  its  utmost  length  I 


IN  TIME  OF  WAR.  7 

The  incense  of  a  people's  sacrifice,  — 
The  wrested  offering  of  a  people's  strength  ! 

It  is  the  costliest  land  beneath  the  sun ! 

'T  is  priceless,  purchaseless !     And  not  a 

rood 
But  hath  its  title  written  clear  and  signed 

In  some  slain  hero's  consecrated  blood. 

And  not  a  flower  that  gems  its   mellowing 

soil 

But  thriveth  well  beneath  the  holy  dew 
Of  tears,  that  ease  a  nation's  straining  heart, 
When  the  Lord  of  battles  smites  it  through 
and  through. 


LEFT  ON  THE   BATTLE-FIELD. 

OH,  my  darling!   my  darling!   never  to 
feel 

Your  hand  going  over  my  hair  ! 
Never  to  lie  in  your  arms  again,  — 

Never  to  know  where  you  are  ! 
Oh,  the  weary  miles  that  stretch  between 

My  feet  and  the  battle-ground, 
Where  all  that  is  left  of  my  dearest  hope 
Lies  under  some  yellow  mound  ! 

It  is  but  little  I  might  have  done 

To  lighten  your  parting  pain  ; 
But  't  is  bitter  to  think  that  you  died  alone 

Out  in  the  dark  and  the  rain  ! 
Oh,  my  hero  love  !  —  to  have  kissed  the  pain 

And  the  mist  from  your  fading  eyes  ! 


LEFT   ON  THE  BATTLE-FIELD.         9 

To  have  saved  one  only  passionate  look 
To  sweeten  these  memories  ! 


And  thinking  of  all,  I  am  strangely  stunned, 

And  cannot  believe  you  dead. 
You   loved   me,    dear !     And   I  loved  you, 
dear! 

And  your  letter  lies  there,  unread  ! 
You  are  not  dead  !     You  are  not  dead  ! 

God  never  could  will  it  so  — 
To  craze  my  brain  and  break  my  heart 

And  shatter  my  life  —  I  know  ! 

Dead  !  dead  !  and  never  a  word, 

Never  a  look  for  me  ! 
Dead  !  dead !  and  our  marriage-day 

Never  on  earth  to  be  ! 
I  am  left  alone,  and  the  world  is  changed, 

So  dress  me  in  bridal  white, 
And  lay  me  away  in  some  quiet  place 

Out  of  the  hateful  light. 


TO  THE   EARNEST   THINKERS. 

TF  the  mist  of  failure,  gray, 

Cloud  the  breaking  of  the  day, 
For  whose    coming  all   the  waiting  millions 

pray,  - 

If  misgivings  dull  and  rust 
The  first  brightness  of  their  trust,  — 
Let  the  earnest  thinkers  open  up  the  way. 

Show  each  brave,  impatient  soul 
How  the  waves  of  failure  roll 
Back  from  brows  that  sternly  front  the  wait 
ing  goal ; 

How  the  single-handed  right, 
In  its  God-anointed  might, 
Dares  to   meet  and  conquer   evil's  legioned 
whole. 


TO   THE  EARNEST  THINKERS.      11 

Show  them  how  a  brief  defeat 
Hath  its  uses  pure  and  sweet,  — 
How  it  fires  the  brain,  the  soul,  with  newer 

heat ; 

Failure's  lowest  depths  we  sound, 
Then,  with  terrible  rebound, 
Up  the  heights  of  triumph  go  our  conquering 
feet  I 

Show  them  how  the  Truth  is  strong 
When  it  battles  with  the  Wrong, 
Though  the  coward  quail  before  the  struggle 

long; 
How  the  soldier  of  the  Right 

o 

Dares  the  fierce,  unequal  fight, 
Leaping  fearless  into  Treason's  armed  throng ! 

Earnest  thinkers  of  the  day ! 
It  is  yours  to  clear  the  way, 
While  our   soldiers   fight,  our  women  work 

and  pray  ; 

Send  your  stirring  words  abroad 
For  the  Right  —  for  Truth  —  for  God  ! 

With  the  prophet's  fiery  spirit  seal  your  say ! 
2 


AFTER  THE  VICTORIES. 

TTA!   the  wine-press   of  pain   hath  been 
-*"*-       trodden  ! 

And  suffering's  meed  mantles  high,  — 
The  perfect,  rare  wine,  wrought  of  patience, 

It  moveth  aright  to  the  eye  ! 
Oh  !  dark  was  the  night  while  we  trampled 

Its  death-purple  grapes  under  foot ; 
And  no  song  parted  silence  from  darkness, 

For  Liberty's  Sibyl  was  mute  ! 

And  the  fiends  of  the  lowest  were  loosened, 

To  persecute  Truth  at  their  will ! 
They  spat  on  her  white  shining  forehead, 

She  standing  unmoved  and  still ! 
The  hiss  of  the  white-blooded  coward, 

The  vile  breath  of  calumny's  brood, 
Befouled  and  bedarkened  the  kingdom, 

And  poisoned  the  place  where  we  stood ! 


AFTER   THE   VICTORIES.  13 

We,  —  treading  the  ripe  grapes  asunder, 

With  failing  and  overworked  feet ; 
Alone  in  the  terrible  darkness, 

Alone  in  the  stifling  heat ; 
With  agony-drops  raining  over 

Our  weak  hands  from  desolate  brows ; 
With  a  deadlier  pain  in  our  spirits, 

O'er  whose  failure  no  promise  arose. 

Shook  the  innermost  being  of  justice, 

Stirred  the  innermost  pulse  of  our  God, 
With  a  cry  of  remonstrance  whose  anguish 

Frighted  devils  and  saints  from  its  road ! 
All  the  pain  of  a  long-martyred  nation, 

All  its  giant  heart's  overtasked  strength, 
In  one  Samson-like  throe  were  unfettered, 

Standing  up  for  a  hearing  at  length ! 

And,  even  as  we  fell  in  the  darkness  — 
Falling  down,  with  our  mouths  in  the  dust, 

With  toil-stained  and  blood-dyed  garments 
That  betokened  us  true  to  our  trust, 

When  the  laugh  of  the  scoffer  was  loudest, 


14  AFTER   THE    VICTORIES. 

And  the  clapping  of  cowardly  hands, 
A  glory  blazed  out  from  the  Westward, 

That  startled  the  far-distant  lands  I 

****** 
Ha !  the  wine-press  of  pain  hath  been  trodden! 

Now  summon  the  laborers  forth  ! 
Let  them  come  in  their  red-dyed  garments, 

The  lion-browed  sons  of  the  North ! 
Not  for  failure  their  veins  have  been  leavened 

With  the  vintage  of  SEVENTY-SIX  ! 
Nor  unworthy  the  blood  of  our  heroes 

With  its  rare  olden  currents  to  mix  I 

Ha  !  Conquerors  !  Come  ye  out  boldly, 

Full  fronting  our  reverent  eyes  ! 
In  the  might  of  your  glorious  manhood, 

Ye  Saviours  of  Freedom,  arise  ! 
Come  out  in  your  sun-ripened  grandeur, 

Ye  victors,  who  wrestled  with  Wrong ! 
Come  !  toil-worn  and  weary  with  battle,  — 

We  greet  you  with  shout  and  with  song  I 


A 


DE   PROFUNDIS. 

AFTEE    A    DEFEAT. 

H,  God!  shall  tears  poured   out  like 


ram, 

And  deathly  pangs,  and  praying  breath, 
And  faith  as  deep  and  strong  as  death, 
Be  given  —  and  all  in  vain  ? 

Thou  claimest  martyrs,  —  they  are  given,  - 
What  shall  the  stern  demand  suffice  ? 
From  out  our  darkened  homes  arise 

Strong  cries  that  startle  Heaven. 

We  murmur  not,  enduring  all 

With  broken  hearts  but  silent  lips  ; 
With  all  our  glories  in  eclipse, 

And  some  beyond  recall. 


16  DE  PROFUNDIS. 

We  stand  beside  our  dead,  our  eyes 
In  patient  sufferance  raised  to  Thee, 
And  kiss  the  still  brows  reverently,  — 

Behold  our  sacrifice ! 

Behold  our  sacrifice  !     We  give 
The  best  blood  of  a  suffering  land ! 
A  nation's  heart  by  its  own  hand 

Is  stricken  —  that  Right  may  live  ! 

No  failure  this  !     God's  own  right  hand 
A  victory  shall  write  it  down  ! 
The  years  shall  strengthen  its  renown  ; 

Be  proud  of  it,  O  Land ! 

Thou  Christ !  The  Godhood  of  thy  brow- 
Paled  'neath  the  throes  of  mortal  pain ; 
But  all  thy  glory  glows  again, 

Thrice-haloed,  round  thee  now  ! 

Give  us  the  martyr's  steadfast  power, 
So,  passing  our  Gethsemane, 
Our  glory  shall  but  brighter  be 

For  this,  our  trial  hour  ! 


FOR  THE  STRICKEN. 

IN    MEMORIAM. 

O  WISTFUL  eyes  !  that  will  not  cease 
From  gazing  sadly  after  one 
Who  went  out  in  the  dark  alone, 
Although  ye  say,  "  He  is  at  peace  !  " 

O  hearts !  that  will  not  turn  away, 

But  questioning  stand  without  the  door  ; 
He  passeth  through  it  never  more, 

For  he  hath  reached  the  perfect  day  ! 

Even  when  we  thought  him  most  our  own, 
His  crown  was  nearest  to  his  brow  ; 
And  he  redeemed  his  early  vow, 

And  passed,  with  all  his  armor  on. 


18  FOR    THE   STRICKEN. 

He  turned  to  clasp  a  shadowy  hand, 

Unreal  to  our  duller  eyes  ; 

He  saw  the  gleams  of  Paradise 
Break  through  the  darkness  of  the  land, 

His  gain  exceedeth  all  our  loss  ; 

We  linger  on  these  barren  sands,  — 
He  is  a  dweller  in  the  lands 

Bequeathed  the  soldiers  of  the  cross ! 


THE   STORY  OF   SUMTER. 

THEN. 

i~\  VER  sea  and  over  city  slowly  crept  the 

sullen  morn, 

All  the  splendor  of  its  dawning  by  a  grow 
ing  shadow  curst  ; 
And  the  sunless  sky  that  sphered  us  nursed 

a  tempest  yet  unborn, 
But  we  waited  on  the  Battery*  for  another 

storm  to  burst. 
Grim,  defiant,  as  some  olden  warrior  clad  in 

chilly  mail, 
Sullen,  signless   silence   brooding   o'er  its 

weather-beaten  face, 

From  its  brow  the  vapor  rifted  by  the  fresh 
ening  eastern  gale, 

*  The  battery  of  Charleston  harbor. 


20  THE  STORY  OF  SUMTER. 

Saw  we  Sumter,  as  the   grayness  of  the 

morning  waned  apace. 

Ha !  the  sluggish  day  is  shaken  from  its  still 
ness  by  a  growl, 
The   defiance   of  the  Southron — spoken 

from  the  cannon's  mouth  — 
Blazes  out   the   fiery  ruin  from  beneath  its 

smoky  cowl, 
And  within  the  walls  of  Sumter  falls  the 

gauntlet  of  the  South ! 
No  response  unto  the  challenge  !     Are  they 

powerless  to  defy  ? 
But  what  flutters  from  the  ramparts  as  the 

vapor  parts  away  ? 

Still  their  own  insulted  colors  o'er  the  daunt 
less  heroes  fly, 
Flaunting  all  their  braided  splendors  in  the 

sullen  face  of  day  ! 
Ah  !   behind   those    silent   bulwarks,   rising 

grimly  from  the  sea, 

Waiting   for   the  stealthy  coming   of  the 
death-dispensing  shell, 


THE   STORY   OF  SUMTER.          21 

There's   a  band    of  fearless    spirits;  guess 

how  many  strong  they  be,  — 
They  who  stood  so  long  and  bravely,  ere 

their  glorious  banner  fell ! 
Seventy  men  to  man  the  ramparts  and  to 

work  each  giant  gun  ! 
Only  these  to  face  the  Southrons*  who  are 

seven  thousand  strong  ! 
Bravely  toiled  they  from  the  dawning  to  the 

setting  of  the  sun,  — 
Bursting  shell  and  shot  around  them  in  a 

o 

ceaseless  fiery  throng ! 

Fast  and  faster  belched  the   ruin  from  the 

sulphurous,  yawning  jaws 
Of  the  seven   Southern  batteries,   armed 
and  ready  for  the  work  ; 

All  the  day  and  all  the  night  long  well  were 

plied  their  greedy  maws, 
And  until  the  second  morning  broke  dis 
consolate  and  murk. 

Fire  within   and   foes   without  them !     Yet 
they  struggled  long  and  well, 


22  THE   STORY   OF  SUMTER. 

From  beneath  their  blazing  shelter  holding 

out  against  a  host, 
Ere  the  colors  of  the  loyal  from  the  crest  of 

Sumter  fell, 
And  the  gallant  Seventy  slowly  left  their 

well-defended  post ! 
APRIL,  1861. 

NOW. 

Now  the  tender  budding  greenery  brightens 

all  the  earth  again, 
But  the  sprouting  grass  is  reddened  with 

the  angry  bloom  of  war  ! 
By  the  hearthstones  of  the  nation  only  sounds 

the  wail  of  pain, 

While  our  hero  soldiers  struggle  in  the  glo 
rious  fight  afar. 
Thy  Nemesis,  O  Sumter !  was  the  thrill  that 

shook  the  land ; 
When  the  tidings  of  thy  spoiling  brought 

the  nation  to  its  feet, 

Then  was  clenched,  with  stern  intention,  in 
jured  Loyalty's  right  hand  ; 


THE   STORY   OF  SUMTER.  23 

Its  insulted  front  was  lifted  proudly  up  the 

taunt  to  meet ! 

Murmur  not  in  doubt,  my  brothers,  at  this 
trial  rite  of  blood,  — 

At  this  purging  out  of  error  from  the  arte 
ries  of  the  land  ! 

Never  yet  the  walls  of  Treason  the  assault 
of  Right  withstood ; 

Ere   another   year   hath   circled   ye   shall 
prove  it  where  ye  stand ! 

APRIL,  1864. 


WATCH-NIGHT. 

~T~\ID  I  frighten  you,  mother,  —  so  white 
~^^^      and  cold, 

And  so  silently  here  at  your  bed  ? 
I  could  not  sleep  on  this  terrible  night, 

For  the  battle  of  which  we  read. 
To  think  of  the  dead  lying  out  in  this  rain, 

Not  minding  its  dreary  fall,  — 
Of  that  mad,  mad  fight  on  the  side  of  the 
hill; 

And  he  —  he  was  in  it  all ! 


They  say  he  was  foremost  in  every  charge, 
Till  the  hardiest  held  their  breath, 

Or  paused  in  the  struggle  to  raise  a  cheer 
For  the  man  who  was  quits  with  death ! 

They  say  he  was  quiet  and  just  the  same,  — 
No  paler  when  acting  his  part ; 


WATCH-NIGHT.  25 

But  I  know,  I  know  how  he  went  away, 
Stabbed  even  to  the  inmost  heart. 

But  the  fiercest  pain  for  a  tender  soul 

Is  doubt  and  its  jealous  pride ; 
Though  we  do  not  die  when  we  suffer  so, 

Till  the  faithful  are  justified. 
I  tore  his  ring  from  my  worthless  hand, 

Denying  my  name  of  wife' ; 
But  I  wear  him  yet  in  my  heart  of  hearts, 

And  I  love  him  with  all  my  life, 

I  must  go  to  him  !     I  shall  never  rest 

Till  I  falter  before  his  feet ; 
And  there  I  shah1  die  if  he  raise  me  not, 

And  cure  me  with  kisses  sweet ! 
I  shall  die  !  I  shall  die  if  I  may  not  look 

Once  more  in  my  hero's  eyes, 
And  see  the  fire  of  the  olden  love 

In  their  passionate  deeps  arise  ! 

I  have  wronged  his  truth,  I  have  wronged  his 

love, 
And  all  for  a  whispered  lie ! 


26 


WATCH-NIGHT. 


I  have  sent  him  to  wander  in  search  of  death. 

Ah,  mother,  if  he  should  die  ! 
I  will  suffer  all ;  I  deserve  it  all  I 

But,  mother,  I  'm  mad  to  go, 
And  beg  him  to  take  me  back  again, 

For  I  love  him  —  I  love  him  so ! 


THE   LEGEND    OF   OUR   VICTORIES 

IN  '61-'62. 

"TTTHAT,  ho  !  ye  valiant  wrestlers  ! 

"     Ye  soldiers  of  the  Right ! 
Full  armed  by  Truth  and  Justice 

To  battle  lawless  Might. 
Ho  !  I  have  glorious  tidings  ! 

Come,  list  the  tale  I  tell, 
How  the  cause  of  UNION  triumphed, 

And  the  crest  of  Treason  fell. 

Too  long  this  fair  young  kingdom, 
The  Empire  of  the  West, 

Had  borne  a  blasting  stigma 
Upon  her  virgin  breast ! 

Too  long  the  brazen  foreheads 
Of  a  many-headed  Wrong 


28   THE  LEGEND   OF  OUR    VICTORIES. 

Were  lifted  up  in  triumph 
Above  a  murmuring  throng  ! 

And  the  leal  heart  of  the  patriot 

Was  heavy  for  our  shame  ; 
And  we  trembled  for  the  glory 

Of  our  country's  growing  fame  ; 
But  a  noble-hearted  pity 

Held  back  the  righteous  blow, 
For,  alas  !  we  knew  a  brother 

In  the  face  of  every  foe. 

Our  wise  men,  looking  Southward, 

Beheld  the  coming  storm  ; 
It  had  gathered,  it  had  ripened, 

While  they  sounded  the  alarm. 
The  pestilence  grew  fouler, 

And  no  comfort  blessed  our  eyes, 
For  the  fiend  that  sowed  this  discord 

Had  flouted  all  disguise. 

We  all  remember  SUMTER, 

And  the  battle's  growing  hum,  — 


THE  LEGEND   OF  OUR   VICTORIES.    29 

How  the  noise  of  tinkling  cymbals 
Was  deadened  by  the  drum. 

MANASSAS  stands  a  warning 
To  our  Future  from  our  Past ; 

And  these  skies  that  gleam  so  bluely 
At  BALL'S  BLUFF  were  overcast. 

Oh  !  then  went  up  to  Heaven 

A  strong  and  mingled  sound  : 
There  were  curses,  there  were  pleadings, 

And  tears  falling  to  the  ground. 
And  twin-born  Strife  and  Treason 

Went  stalking  hand  in  hand; 
And  our  friends  across  the  ocean 

Spied  the  bareness  of  the  land. 

But  at  last  we  turned  upon  them, 

And  stood  in  proud  array  ; 
In  the  West  and  to  the  Southward 

Our  thunders  shook  the  day  ! 
On  either  flank  beleaguered, 

Two  foes  our  strength  divide  ; 
But  Disunion,  Fraud,  and  Ruin 

Fell  down  on  either  side  ! 


30    THE  LEGEND  OF  OUR  VICTORIES. 

Bravely  they  worked  together  ! 

The  framers  of  THE  LIE 
That  teaches  we  have  struggled, 

And  succeeded  —  but  to  die  ; 
That  teaches  our  achievements 

And  our  growing  hopes  are  nought ; 
That  laughs  to  scorn  the  maxims 

That  our  patriot  fathers  taught. 

We  sought  to  save  the  UNION  ; 

They  strove  to  blot  the  name 
Of  Freedom's  chosen  country 

From  the  royal  scroll  of  fame. 
We  strove  to  save  the  record 

Wrought  out  by  sacred  hands ; 
But  they  to  make  their  birthright 

The  prey  of  distant  lands. 

Ho  !  planters  of  the  South  land  ! 

Ho  !  yoemen  of  the  North  ! 
Ye  who  love  our  glorious  Union, 

Fling  its  banner  proudly  forth  ! 
For  the  dastard  front  of  Treason 

Quails  beneath  this  sturdy  blow  ; 


THE  LEGEND   OF  OUR  VICTORIES.  31 

And  if  we  stand  together, 
We  shall  lay  the  curser  low  ! 

We  won't  give  up  the  Union  ! 

Go  shout  it  far  and  wide  ! 
Missouri's  head  is  lifted 

Once  more  in  queenly  pride  ; 
And  Tennessee,  unfettered, 

At  length  may  proudly  stand ! 
Out  with  the  hand  of  greeting, 

All  true  hearts  in  the  land  ! 

And  farther,  farther  Southward, 

From  "  the  dark  and  bloody  ground/ 
From  the  crimson  fields  of  Arkansas, 

Our  triumph-notes  resound ! 
And  proudly  o'er  the  waters 

Our  braided  colors  fly,  — 
That  flag  whose  splendors  gladdened 

Full  many  a  dying  eye  ! 

Shout  for  the  glorious  UNION  ! 
Shout  for  the  triumph  gained ! 


32   THE  LEGEND   OF   OUR  VICTORIES. 

In  the  hour  that  gave  it  to  us 

The  star  of  Treason  waned ! 
Well  done,  stanch  hearts  and  loyal ! 

We  yet  shall  win  the  day, 
And  see  this  fell  disorder 

Pass  from  the  land  away ! 
Nerve  !  nerve  !  each  good  right  arm  again, 

And  forward  for  the   RIGHT  ! 
And  UNION'S  stainless  banner 

Shall  conquer  lawless  Might. 


THE   LATEST  WAR  NEWS. 

OPALE,  pale  face  !  O  helpless  hands  ! 
Sweet     eyes     by    fruitless    watching 

wronged ; 

Yet  turning  ever  towards  the  lands 
Where  War's  red  hosts  are  thronged  ! 

She  shudders  when  they  tell  the  tale 
Of  some  great  battle  fought  and  won  ; 

Her  sweet  child  face  grows  old  and  pale, 
Her  heart  falls  like  a  stone. 

She  sees  no  conquering  flag  unfurled, 
She  hears  no  victory's  brazen  roar ; 

But  a  dear  face,  which  was  her  world, 
Perchance  she  '11  kiss  no  more  ! 


34  THE  LATEST  WAR  NEWS. 

Ever  there  comes  between  her  sight 
And  the  glory  that  they  rave  about, 

A  boyish  brow  and  eyes  whose  light 
Of  splendor  hath  gone  out. 

The  midnight  glory  of  his  hair, 
Where  late  her  fingers,  like  a  flood 

Of  moonlight,  wandered, — lingering  there, — 
Is  stiff  and  dank  with  blood ! 

She  must  not  shriek,  she  must  not  moan, 
She  must  not  wring  her  quivering  hands  ; 

But  sitting  dumb  and  white,  alone, 
Be  bound  with  viewless  bands. 

Because  her  suffering  life  infolds 

Another  dearer,  feebler  life, 
In  death-strong  grasp  her  heart  she  holds, 

And  stills  its  torturing  strife. 

Yester  eve,  they  say,  a  field  was  won. 
Her  eyes  ask  tidings  of  the  fight ; 


THE   LATEST   WAR  NEWS.          35 

But  tell  her  of  the  dead  alone 
Who  lay  out  in  the  night. 

In  mercy  tell  her  that  his  name 

Was  not  upon  that  fatal  list ; 
That  not  among  the  heaps  of  slain 

Dumb  are  the  lips  she  's  kissed ! 

O  poor  pale  child  !  O  woman  heart ! 

Its  weakness  triumphed  o'er  by  strength ! 
Love  teaching  pain  discipline's  art, 

And  conquering  at  length  ! 


MITCHELL. 

WRITTEN   AT   THE   TIME   OF   HIS   VICTORIES   IN   THE 
SOUTHWEST. 

II  /TITCHELL  !    strong   brain,  quick   eye, 

and  steady  hand, 

Faithful  in  service,  faultless  in  command ; 
Thou  favorite  son  of  science  !  fit  to  stand 
Foremost  among  the  Saviours  of  the  land ; 

In  that  the  scholar's  craft,  the  captain's  skill, 
In  thee  conjoined,  work  fitting  triumphs  still ; 
And  nobler  yet  the  patriotic  thrill 
Which   guides   the   master-triumphs  of  thy 
will! 

God !  with  a  handful  of  such  hearted  men 
To  beard  the  wolf  of  Treason  in  his  den,  — 


MITCHELL. 


37 


Men  quick  to  plan  and  strong  to  act,  —  and 

then 
Europe  shall  ring  our  triumphs  back  again  ! 

Onward,  my  hero!  Men  shall  catch  the 
flame 

Which  lights  thy  soul,  and  glow  again  for 
shame. 

With  thee,  and  such  as  thee,  we  shall  re 
claim 

The  morning  glory  of  our  empire's  fame ! 


Librar, 


Calif  ,r!U     ,j 


THE  FALL  OF  LEXINGTON,  MISSOURI. 

[On  this  occasion  the  Rebels  tore  down  the  Federal  flag,  and 
trampled  it  in  the  dust.] 

A  ND  what  though  the  crest  of  a  brazen 
-"-     revolt 

Is  reared  for  the  moment  in  insolent  joy 
O'er   the    sanctified   front    of   our   glorious 

cause, 

Whose  hope  and  existence  ye  hope  to  de 
stroy  ? 

The  banner  whose  folds  ye  have  trailed  in 

the  dust 

Is  sacred  in  spite  of  your  dastardly  hands  ; 
And  the  tale  of  your  cowardly  deed  shall  be 

told 

With  hisses   and  sneers  in  the  uttermost 
lands. 


THE  FALL   OF  LEXINGTON.         39 

In  sooth,  't  was  a  valiant  and  soldierly  act, 

Befitting  the  spirits  that  marshal  jour  clan, 
To  insult  the  old  banner,  whose  folds  were 

your  shield, 

That  looked  on  the  hour  when  your  glory 
began. 

That   flag    is  the    type   and    ally   of   each 

deed 
That  gives  you  a  right  to  be  proud  of  the 

past; 

And  with  it  ye  lay  your  inheritance  down, 
And  barter  its  worth  for  a  shame  that  shall 
last. 

But  the  scorn  that  ye  cast  on  your  glorious 

dead 
Shall  arise   from  the  ground  that   is  rich 

with  the  blood 
That  poured,  for  your  craven  and  cowardly 

sakes, 
For  years  in  a  holy  and  martyr-like  flood. 


40          THE   FALL    OF  LEXINGTON. 

Think   ye    that   the   parricide's   labor    shall 

thrive  ? 
Think  ye  that  the  brow  of  a  Cain  shall  be 

blessed, 

When  full  in  the  eyes  of  a  shuddering  world 
He  stands  with  the  red  sign  of  slaughter 
confessed  ? 

The  nations  shall  rise  in  a  verdict  sublime  ; 
The  voice  of  their  protest  shall  sever  the 

skies ; 
And   the   pride-stiffened   neck  of   Rebellion 

shall  bow, 

And  the  fire  of  contempt  blast  its  insolent 
eyes  ! 

Then  shout  o'er  the  fall  of  that  glorious  flag, 
Exult  in  your  shame,  ere  its  punishment 

lowers. 
Your  children  shall  blush  when  they  tell  of 

the  day 

When  you  triumphed,  but  knew  that  the 
glory  was  ours ! 


COME   WE   TO  THIS  ? 

[The  Eebels  have  discarded  the  good  old  National  Air  of 
"  Yankee  Doodle,"  adopting  "  Dixie  "  in  its  stead.] 

"TTTHAT  matter  if  its  martial  strains 

Record  the  triumph-breathing  story 
Of  early  Freedom's  well-fought  plains, 

And  valor  crowned  with  bays  of  glory  ? 
What  matter  if  its  sound  alone 

Sufficed  to  fire  the  patriot's  bosom, 
And  with  each  spirit-stirring  tone 

Exultant  hopes  sprang  into  blossom  ? 

What  matter  if  its  memory 's  twined 

About  our  costliest  heritages, 
And  if  in  casting  it  behind 

We  blur  our  country's  proudest  pages  ? 
What  matter  if  its  tones  were  dear 

Unto  the  lion  heart,  undaunted, 


42  COME   WE  TO  THIS* 

Of  him  whose  fame  is  far  and  near, 
Where'er  our  country's  name  is  vaunted  ? 

What  matter  ?     Has  each  freeborn  soul 

Become  so  strangely  tame  and  craven, 
Despite  the  floods  of  noble  blood 

In  which  its  native  seed  was  laven, 
That  we  can  brook  the  dastard  heel 

Of  Treason  on  our  crest  of  glory  ? 
The  despot's  sneer,  the  traitor's  steel,  — 

Is  this  the  ending  of  our  story  ? 


BAKER. 

ri^HOU  lion-fronted,  royal  man ! 

Thou  of  the  swerveless  lightning  glance, 
Whose  thunderous  eloquence  outran, 

O'ertopped,  the  minds  it  did  entrance;  — 
O  man,  made  regal  by  thy  might, 
The  many-chorded  soul  to  smite  ! 

The  lowly  path  was  not  for  thee. 

Thy  mental  stature  towered  above 
The  wondering  eyes,  upraised  to  see 

The  man   whose    tone    and   glance  could 

move 

A  people's  heart  to  love  or  hate  ; 
Whose  touch  could  guide  it  like  a  fate. 

The  glory  of  his  life  was  set 

Unto  a  measure  high  and  grand  ; 
4 


44  BAKER. 

The  lofty  anthem  lingers  yet 

In  haunting  echoes  through  the  land ; 
And,  greeted  with  a  triumph-tone, 
He  stood,  a  conqueror  —  alone ! 

He  fell ;  —  and,  lo  !  a  mighty  wail, 
A  cry,  sublime  in  grief  and  strength, 

Proclaimed  the  giant  lying  pale, 

His  mighty  power  undone  at  length  ; 

And  for  that  wondrous  man  and  strong 

Went  up  a  nation's  funeral  song. 

For  him  a  high  applauding  tone 
Shall  linger  in  the  halls  of  Time. 

Even  as  he  stood,  he  fell  —  alone, 
A  warrior  in  a  strife  sublime. 

A  nation  raised  his  burial-stone,  — 

He  will  not  sleep  unsung,  unknown. 


OUK  SACRIFICE. 

[To  those  brave  men  of  the  Fifteenth  and  Twentieth  Massa 
chusetts  Regiments  and  the  California  Battalion,  living  or 
dead,  who  took  part  in  the  battle  of  Ball's  Bluff,  this  heart- 
cry  is  dedicated.] 

TTTELL,  the  hapless  day  is  done ! 

*         Well,  its  bloody  course  is  run  ! 
Let  a  pall  of  blackness  hide  it 
From  the  glances  of  the  sun. 

Oh  !  the  cruel,  cruel  fate  ! 

Oh  !  the  help  that  came  too  late  ! 

Here  our  first  and  great  disaster  * 

Surely  found  its  fitting  mate  ! 

i 

Ah,  the  hearts  that  bled  in  vain  ! 
Ah,  the  heaps  of  loyal  slain  ! 

*  Bull  Run. 


46  OUR   SACRIFICE. 

Soft,  my  soul ;  be  silent ;  add  not 
Curses  to  tliis  bitter  pain. 

He*  the  lion-heart  of  all, 
Holding  life  and  safety  small, 
If  his  country's  clouded  honor 
Might  be  brightened  by  his  fall. 

Oh,  ye  steadfast !  oh,  ye  brave  ! 
Filling  now  one  common  grave  ; 
Lo  !  the  nation's  bosom  shrines  y& 
With  the  cause  ye  died  to  save ! 

Shall  it,  shall  it  be  for  nought 
That  this  sacrifice  was  wrought  ? 
Ha  !  the  nation  startles  fiercely, 
Burning  at  the  craven  thought ! 

Not  until  the  hoary  flood 
That  is  purple  with  your  blood, 
On  whose  banks  your  scanty  legions 
Facing  brutal  slaughter  stood, 

*  Baker. 


OUR   SACRIFICE.  47 

From  its  ending  to  its  source 
Floweth  free  from  Rebel  force,  — 
Not  until  yon  far  blue  mountains 
Have  been  purged  of  Treason's  curse,  — • 

Will  we  stay  the  costly  tide 
From  a  bleeding  nation's  side  ; 
Blood  and  treasure  flowing  freely 
In  an  ocean  deep  and  wide. 

For  a  spirit  is  abroad 
Bright  and  terrible  with  God  ; 
And  we  mark  the  troubled  waters 
Where  His  burning  feet  have  trod ! 


UNION   FOREVER. 

"JV/TEN  of  America,  press  to  your  standard ! 

Foemen  are  gathering  anear  and  afar ; 

Swear    that    your    life-blood    shall    redden 

around  it, 
Ere  from  its  azure  there  vanish  a  star. 

Look  where  the  demon  of  inward  dissension 
Is  sowing  the  seeds  of  a  terrible  strife ; 

We  who  stood  firm  against  foreign  encroach 
ment, 
Are  turning  our  hands  against  Unity's  life. 

Shall  our  blood-purchased  glory  vanish  for 
ever  ? 

Oh  !  •  shall  we  shame  the  pure  eye  of  the 
day, 


UNION  FOREVER.  49 

With,  a  sight  of  the  ranks  of  our  brotherhood 

broken 
Forever,  and  siding  in  hostile  array  ? 

Oh!    shall   the   wail   of  the   trampled    and 

fettered 
Go  up  from   the   uttermost   ends   of  the 

earth, 
And  the  down-trodden  heads  of  the  millions 

uplifted 
At  the  news  of  our  destiny's  glorious  birth 

Droop  as  the  star  of  our  Unity  fadeth, 

And  the  shreds  of  our  banner  are  flung  on 

the  gale  ; 
While  the  eye  of  the  despot  shall  gloat  o'er 

the  record 

That  tells  of  our  shame  and  our  failure  the 
tale? 

How  art  thou  fallen,  O  Daughter  of  Promise  ! 
From  the  throne  of  thy  lofty  and  virgin 
estate, 


50  UNION  FOREVER. 

When  thy  children  are  drunk  with  the  blood 

of  thy  suffering, 

And  traitors  are  ringing  the  knell  of  thy 
fate! 

Yet,  there  's  a  band  of  the  stanch  and  de 
voted,  — 

Men  whose  integrity  never  was  bought ; 
Deep  in  their  leal  hearts  are  graven  the  les 
sons 

God  and  the  deeds  of  their  fathers  have 
taught. 

Strong  in    the  might   of  an   inborn  convic 
tion, 

Only  for  GOD  AND  THE  UNION  we  fight, 
Only  to  foil  the  designs  of  the  traitor, 

Only  to  vindicate  GOD  AND  THE  RIGHT  ! 

Union  forever  !  our  God-given  motto  ; 

Union  forever  !  our  voices  proclaim  ; 
Union  forever  !  our  women  and  children 

Rise  and  unite  in  defence  of  its  fame  ! 


UNION  FOREVER.  51 

Union  forever  !  and  death  to  the  traitor  ! 

Be  the  bright  folds  of  our  banner  unrolled. 
Show  to  the  world  that  its  stripes  are  eternal, 

And  its  stars  like  the  stars  that  the  heav 
ens  enfold. 

Union  forever  !     Oh,  sons  of  your  country, 
Swell  the  proud  anthem  that  rolls  from  the 

heart 

Of  our  forests  of  pine  to  the  sweeping  prai 
ries  ; 
Union  forever  !  we  die  ere  we  part  ! 


RESURGAM. 

T  ET  the  nations  talk  ! 

While  Freedom  droops,  with  all  her 

colors  down, 

With  a  great  cloud  upon  her  old  renown ; 
While  in  the  sunlight  traitors  dare  to  walk ! 

It  is  the  boaster's  hour  ! 
It  is  the  time  that  separates  from  the  true 
Those  paltering  fools  who  have  not  strength 

to  do 
One  honest  deed  against  an  evil  power. 

For  single-hearted  men, 
Who  know  no   creed  but  Crusade  for   the 
Right, 


RESURGAM.  53 

Whom   smaller   interests   sway   not   in  this 

fight, 

The  Cross  and  Thorns  of  Christdom  come 
again. 

What  time  they  stand 
In  pillory,  while  Ignorance  may  revile, 
And  Prejudice  may  sneer  with  bigot  smile, 
And  Wrong  be  free  to  strike  with  dastard 
hand. 

But  not  for  long  ! 

Is  any  night  that  waits  not  for  its  dawn  ? 
From  any  work   is  God's   good  hand  with 
drawn  ? 
Is  any  right  o'ermastered  by  the  wrong  ? 

As  the  Lord  liveth  —  No  I 
Above  the  night  of  this  most  sore  distress 
Shall  rise  the  healing  sun  of  righteousness  ! 
The  harvest  is  the  surer,  being  slow  ! 


ON  THE   DEAD   LIST. 


T1TILLIS  CLARE  is  dead,  they  say 

Mother  read  it  out  to-day, 
But  I  met  the  words  half-way. 

Did  I  tremble  ?     Did  I  faint  ? 
Did  I  utter  any  plaint  ? 
I  was  patient  as  a  saint. 


So  I  grappled  without  sign 
With  this  master  woe  of  mine ; 
Pride  can  brace  us  more  than  wine. 

Prudent,  was  I  ?     Let  me  die  ! 

Ah  !  I  cannot  act  a  lie, 

'Neath  the  pure  night's  starry  eye ! 


ON  THE   DEAD' LI  ST.  55 

Oh,  to  think,  this  summer  night, 
That  he  lies  so  cold  and  white  ! 
He  —  the  bravest  in  the  fight ! 

And  my  name  was  on  his  lips 
When  his  blue  eyes  met  eclipse 
'Neath  death's  icy  finger-tips. 

Christ  in  heaven  !  I  would  have  died 
Glad,  and  proud,  and  satisfied 
For  that  last  hour  at  his  side  I 

Oh,  this  bitter,  bitter  woe ! 
Will  the  darkness  never  go, 
And  the  pain  that  stabs  me  so  ? 

I  remember  summer  nights 

On  the  Hudson's  breezy  heights, 

Full  of  wonderful  delights. 

Now  I  watch  not  for  his  tread, 
Though  the  stars  shine  overhead ; 
And  they  tell  me  he  is  dead. 


56  ON  THE  DEAD  LIST. 

I  deserve  this  bitter  woe ; 
In  my  pride  I  bade  him  go ; 
And  he  loved  me,  —  loved  me  so  ! 

But  my  heart  was  full  of  pain 
As  the  clouds  are  full  of  rain, 
Though  I  would  not  turn  again  ! 

Do  you  know  of  any  grave 
Which  the  sullen  waters  lave 
With  a  dull  unending  wave  ? 

Over  which  the  west  wind  weaves 

Many  a  pall  of  fading  leaves, 

While  it  sobs  and  moans  and  grieves  ? 

Some  such  lonely  spot  unblest, 
Where  a  guilty  soul  may  rest, 
Somewhere  in  the  distant  West  ? 

If  such  grave  you  ever  see,  — 
Emblem  of  mute  misery,  — 
Think,  such  is  my  heart  in  me  ! 


BELLE   MISSOURI. 

[This  song  has  been  set  to  music,  and  universally  adopted  by 
the  Loyalists  of  Missouri,  in  opposition  to  "  My  Maryland."] 

A  RISE  and  join  the  patriot  train, 

Belle  Missouri !     My  Missouri ! 
They  should  not  plead  and  plead  in  vain, 

Belle  Missouri !     My  Missouri ! 
The  precious  blood  of  all  thy  slain 
Arises  from  each  reeking  plain. 
Wipe  out  this  foul  disloyal  stain, 

Belle  Missouri !     My  Missouri ! 

Recall  the  field  of  Lexington, 
Belle  Missouri !     My  Missouri ! 

How  Springfield  blushed  beneath  the  sun, 
Belle  Missouri !     My  Missouri ! 

And  noble  Lyon  all  undone, 

His  race  of  glory  but  begun, 


58  BELLE  MISSOURI. 

And  all  thy  freedom  yet  unwon, 
Belle  Missouri !     My  Missouri  I 

They  called  thee  craven  to  the  trust, 

Belle  Missouri  !     My  Missouri  ! 
They  laid  thy  glory  in  the  dust, 

Belle  Missouri  !     My  Missouri  ! 
The  helpless  prey  of  treason's  lust, 
The  helpless  mark  of  treason's  thrust, 
Now  shall  thy  sword  in  scabbard  rust  ? 
Belle  Missouri !     My  Missouri  I 

She  thrills  !   her  blood  begins  to  burn  ! 

Belle  Missouri !     My  Missouri  ! 
She  's  bruised  and  weak,  but  she  can  turn, 

Belle  Missouri  I     My  Missouri ! 
Lo  !  on  her  forehead  pale  and  stern, 
A  sign  to  make  the  traitors  mourn, 
Now  for  thy  w^ounds  a  swift  return, 

Belle  Missouri  I     My  Missouri  ! 

Stretch  out  thy  thousand  loyal  hands, 
Belle  Missouri  !     My  Missouri  ! 


BELLE  MISSOURI.  59 

Send  out  thy  thousand  loyal  bands, 
Belle  Missouri !     My  Missouri  I 

To  where  the  flag  of  Union  stands, 

Alone,  upon  the  blood-wet  sands, 

A  beacon  unto  distant  lands, 
Belle  Missouri !     My  Missouri ! 

Up  with  the  loyal  Stripes  and  Stars, 
Belle  Missouri !     My  Missouri ! 

Down  with  the  traitor  Stars  and  Bars, 
Belle  Missouri !     My  Missouri ! 

Now,  by  the  crimson  crest  of  Mars, 

And  Liberty's  appealing  scars, 

We  '11  lay  the  demon  of  these  wars, 
Belle  Missouri !     My  Missouri ! 


DOUGLAS. 

Q<  TOUT  wrestler  for  the  trampled  Right  I 

Good  warrior  in  the  desperate  fight ! 
Strong  champion  of  the  Nation's  cause  ! 
Steel-true  defender  of  her  laws  ! 

Oh,  well  for  thee,  the  friendly  clod  — 
Full  six  good  feet  of  Western  sod  — 
Should  come  between  those  honest  eyes 
And  the  foul  deeds  that  here  arise  ! 

Well  for  the  head  that  sleeps  so  low, 
Unhumbled  by  the  perjured  foe  ; 
Well  for  the  lips  that  dared  to  speak 
The  truth  that  paled  the  traitor's  cheek ! 

Oh,  well  that  they  are  mute  to-day, 
When  bigot  fury  holds  its  sway  ; 


DOUGLAS.  61 

When  Justice  lays  its  front  in  dust, 
And  Might  usurps  its  sacred  trust ! 

Well  that  the  patriot's  ear  hears  not 
The  curse  of  those  by  Power  forgot ! 
Gaunt  suffering,  pleading  for  surcease, 
Whose  crying  is  a  prayer  for  peace  ! 

In  that  thou  died'st  with  sword  unbroken, 
With  cheek  unstained  by  shame's  hot  token ; 
In  that  thou  wert  not  like  to  them, 
Who,  seeing  that  they  could  not  stem 

This  storm  of  Evil,  Hate,  and  Wrong, 
Bowed  tamely  with  the  cowering  throng ;  — 
Thanks  !   that  the  veteran's  brightening  fame 
Was  saved  this  deep  and  damning  shame  ! 

Thanks  !  that  his  sturdy  strength,  unbowed, 
Went  out  unshamed,  unshorn,  uncowed  ! 
That,  seeing  wrongs  he  could  not  mend, 
And  brutish  errors  without  end, 


62  DOUGLAS. 

His  keen  and  comprehensive  brain 
Was  lashed  to  madness  by  such  pain  ;  — 
So,  falling  with  his  harness  on, 
We  are  but  glad  that  he  is  gone. 
Thy  sorrows  will  not  haunt  him  in  his  grave, 
O   land,  for  which  he  died,  but   could  not 
save  ! 


THE   SNOW   IN   OCTOBER. 

HHHE  snow  is  falling  abroad, 
^~    Over  meadow  and  moor  ; 
Drifting  silently,  high  and  white, 
O'er  the  sill  of  our  cottage  door. 

It  falls  on  a  lonely  grave 

Lying  away  to  the  West, 
Where  a  hero  heart  is  mouldering  away,  — 

The  heart  that  loved  me  best ! 

I  think  of  the  closed  blue  eyes, 
And  the  beautiful  shining  hair  ; 

And  the  fresh  snow  heaped  o'er  one  beloved, 
Alone  in  the  darkness  there  ! 

The  aster's  heroic  bloom 

And  the  maple's  scarlet  wreath 


64  THE   SNOW  IN   OCTOBER. 

Are  crushed  alike  by  the  cold,  white  hand 
Of  this  terrible  icy  death. 

Oh,  cruel,  untimely  snow  I 

You  have  found  him  where  he  lies. 

It  was  too  early  to  fold  your  shroud 
Over  my  soldier's  eyes. 

I  could  bear  to  leave  him  alone 

With  the  sweet  south  wind  and  the  flowers, 
But  not  with  the  snow  and  the  blighted 
leaves 

Of  these  desolate  autumn  hours  ! 

Oh  !  then  I  could  think  no  more, 
And  the  pent-up  grief  grew  wild, 

And  I  bowed  my  throbbing,  aching  head, 
And  wept  like  a  weary  child ! 

And  I  said,  "  The  world  is  cold, 

And  terribly  lone  and  wide  ; 
How  can  I  walk  its  dreary  way, 

With  no  stay  but  my  woman's  pride  ? 


THE  SNOW  IN   OCTOBER.          65 

"  I  shall  pass  by  cheerful  homes 
Which  Love  hath  made  so  bright, 

But  I  may  not  stay ;  I  must  walk  alone 
In  the  darkness  and  the  night ! 

"  Moan,  moan  aloud, 

O  desolate  heart  of  mine  ! 
But  spoken  words  can  never  give  vent 

To  an  agony  like  to  thine." 

The  snow  is  falling  abroad, 

Silently,  soft  and  slow, 
But  the  tears  that  rain  from  despairing  eyes 

Fall  faster  than  the  snow  I 

******* 
I  watched  it  through  my  tears, 

Till  the  grief-throbs  grew  less  sharp ; 
And  I  thought  of  a  gleaming,  golden  crown, 

And  a  sweetly  sounding  harp  ! 

I  thought  of  the  Great  White  Throne, 
And  the  shining  robes  they  wear ; 


66  THE  SNOW  IN  OCTOBER. 

And  the  perfect  peace  of  the  purified  ones, 

And  the  glory  reigning  there  ! 

******* 
The  snow  is  falling  abroad, 

Tenderly,  soft  and  slow  ; 
And  the  quiet  throbs  of  my  heart  keep  time 

To  the  musical  fall  of  the  snow  ! 


TO  A  HERO,  WITH  A  SWORD. 

(McCLELLAN.    IN  1861.) 

it  !  from  a  woman's  hand  : 


Draw  it  !  for  a  suffering  land  : 
Sheathe  it  only  when  we  stand 
Shouting  victory  ! 

Childhood's  lisp  and  woman's  tears, 
Pulse  of  pride,  affection's  fears, 
Heart  of  youth  and  strength  of  years, 
Blend  in  this  appeal. 

And  though  we,  who  bid  thee  go, 
May  not  with  thee  breast  the  foe, 
Tears  as  dear  as  blood  shall  flow, 
Champion  of  our  homes  ! 


68       TO  A  HERO,    WITH  A  SWORD. 

Lo  !  our  clinging  hands  untwine, 
And  no  longer  fetter  thine  ; 
For  our  land  we  all  resign,  — 

O     " 

So,  we  let  thee  go  ! 

Take  it  I  decked  by  woman's  skill, 
She  whose  gentle  min'stries  still 
In  the  hour  of  trial  fill 

Sterner  souls  with  calm  ! 

Take  it !  from  a  woman's  hand  : 
Draw  it !  for  a  suffering  land  : 
Sheathe  it  only  when  we  stand 
Shouting  victory ! 


TO  A   PATRIOT. 

"C^RIEND  I     In  this  fearful  struggle  for  the 

Right, 

Oh,  brother-wrestler  in  our  common  cause  ! 
Upholder  of  our  rudely  trampled  laws ! 
Good  soldier  in  the  fight ! 

I  stretch  to  thee  a  not  unworthy  hand, 
In  that  my  soul  is  large  enough  to  know 
And   feel   the    mighty   truths    which   nerve 

thee  so 
To  battle  for  our  land  I 

I  give  thee  greeting  through  my  rising  tears  ; 
I  say,  God  speed  thee  on  thy  venturous  way ! 
I  say,  if  we  should  win  this  desperate  day, 
Through  the  thick-coming  years 


TO  TO  A  PATRIOT. 

A  voice  shall  utter  how  thy  strength  went 

forth 
To  nerve  thine  upright  heart,  thine  honest 

hand,  — 

Thou,  noblest  of  the  brothers  of  our  band, 
The  heroes  of  the  North  ! 


VICKSBURG. 

TTICTORY!     Victory! 

The  resurrected  Right  shall  stand, 
A  tower  of  strength  unto  the  land. 
And  when  our  spirits  faint  and  fail, 
And  long  endeavors  leave  us  pale, 
Across  the  lists  of  death  shall  flash 
That  memory  of  rare  renown,  — 
How  for  so  many  days  and  nights 
We  lay  around  the  'leaguered  town. 
Victory  I     Victory  ! 

No  transient,  momentary  gleam, 
As  fitful  as  a  fever  dream  ;  — 
The  grand  fruition  of  a  work 
Cemented  into  moveless  strength 
With  loyal  blood  and  loyal  breath, 


72  VICKSBURG. 

And  triumphing  o'er  Wrong  at  length. 
Victory  !     Victory  ! 

Sure  and  slow  !     Sure  and  slow  ! 
While  the  seasons  came  and  went, 
The  iron  man  of  swerveless  thought  * 
Planned  and  wrought !  Planned  and  wrought ! 
The  waiting  spring  burst  into  bloom, 
Nor  saw  the  fated  city's  doom  ; 
Midsummer's  breath  was  on  the  air, 
Before  suspense  was  broken  there. 

Sure  and  slow  !     Sure  and  slow  ! 

Victory  !     Victory  ! 
Our  triumph  shook  the  very  air  ! 
One  loyal,  universal  shout, 
In  which  the  Nation's  heart  went  out ; 
For  Wrong  was  down,  and  Right  was  up, 
And  exultation  everywhere. 

Victory !     Victory ! 

*  Grant. 


LOYALTY'S   LAST  EFFORT. 

[He  did  not  speak  or  move  after  receiving  the  fatal  wound, 
until  a  comrade,  bending  over  him,  said,  "  What  cheer  for 
the  Union?  "] 

T  IFE'S  sands  were  ebbing  fast, 

"^   And  darkness  wrapped  Ms  failing  mind 

about ; 
And  then  in  gloom,  at  last, 

Memory's  spent  lamp  went  out. 

And  thus  he  lay, 

While  slowly  dragged  along   each  weary 

hour; 
Knowing  not  night  or  day, 

Suffering,  bereft  of  power. 

And  Love  its  vigil  kept,  — 

Love,  whose  heroic  spirit  faltereth  not ! 


74          LOYALTY  S  LAST  EFFORT. 

And  one,  his  dearest,  there  in  anguish  wept, 
Because  she  was  forgot. 


Dear  hands  were  on  his  brow, 

True  eyes  in  anxious  pity  sought  his  own : 
"  Dearest !  dost  thou  not  know  me  now  ?  " 

Alas  !  he  knew  not  one  ! 

Another  came, 

Grasping  his  poor  worn  hand  with  cheering 

tone  : 
"  Knowest  thou  not  me?  "     The  silence  was 

the  same; 
He  groped  in  gloom  alone. 

"  One  question  more, — 

Hath  no  last  prayer  for  Freedom's  death 
less  cause  ? 
O  patriot  heart,  so  bravely  stanch  of  yore  I  " 

They  bent  in  breathless  pause. 

And  then,  oh,  then ! 

It  seemed  as  if  a  blaze  of  glory  bright 


LOYALTTS  LAST  EFFORT.          75 

Had   cleft   the   quickly   gathering  gloom  in 

twain, 
And  swept  away  the  night. 

The  dull  eye  gleamed, 

The  inane  face  was  lighted  up  with  joy ; 
O'er  all  a  grand  celestial  radiance  beamed, 

Which  death  could  not  destroy : 

"  God  save  the  trampled  Right ! 

God  keep   aloft  our  glorious  Stripes  and 

Stars  ! 
UNION  FOREVER  !     Comrades,  to  the  fight ! " 

Ended  were  all  his  wars. 


AN  APPEAL 

IN   FAVOR   OP   A   GRAND    MISSISSIPPI   VALLEY   SANITARY 
FAIR. 

[Read  before  the  General  Assembly  of  the  loyal  men  and 
women  of  St.  Louis,  convened  at  the  Mercantile  Library, 
February  1,  1864,  by  Professor  Amasa  McCoy,  of  Washing 
ton,  D.  C.] 

TITHERE  the  Mississippi's  darkly  troubled 

waters 

,  Roll  their  tawny  waves  along ; 
And  the  South  land's  ever  warm,  but  wilful 

daughters 

Change  to  sighing  all  their  song ; 
Far  away  from  any  help  or  friendly  sooth 
ing* 


They  are  dying,  day  by  day. 


AN  APPEAL.  77 

Without  love  or  any  tender  hand  for  smooth 
ing 
The  last  frown  of  death  away  ! 

Who  are  dying?     Who  are  falling  in  their 

places, 

Stabbed  by  pestilence  and  want ; 
With  a  firm  resolve  upon  their  pallid  faces, 

Which  Death  can  never  daunt  ? 
Who  are  tracking  from  the  West  land  to  the 

South  land 

A  free  passage  in  their  blood  ? 
Who  have  never  turned  their  failing  footsteps 

homeward, 
Nor  faltered  where  they  stood  ? 

Loyal  men,  who  make   the   sinews  of  this 

nation, 
Who   keep   alive    the    throbbings    of   its 

heart ! 
Royal  heroes!  without   thought  of  rank  or 

station, 

By  the   God   of   battles    called    and   set 
apart ! 


78  AN  APPEAL. 

The  champions  of  this  crucified  Republic, 
The  flower  and  the  glory  of  the  land ! 

And  shall  no  help  nor  any  sign  of  greeting 
Go  to  cheer  them  where  they  stand? 

In  hospitals  and  in  camps,  so  thickly  crowded, 

They  are  suffering  life  away, 
With  no  blessed  touch  of  Home  to  balm  and 
soften 

The  pain  which  maketh  gray  ! 
Oh,  ye   daughters  !     Oh,   ye    sisters !     Oh, 
ye  mothers  ! 

Are  ye  haunted  by  their  eyes  ?  — 
The  weary,  dying  looks  of  sons  and  brothers, 

Who  shall  never  more  arise  ! 

Let  us  help  them  !     We,  who  sit  in  careless 

comfort, 

In  our  happy,  cheerful  homes,  — 
Shall  we  leave  our  brave  defenders  pining, 

dying, 

For  the  help  that  never  comes  ? 
Oh  !  remember  that  the  quiet  of  each  hearth 
stone 


AN  APPEAL.  79 

Is  purchased  with  their  blood  ; 
And  for  us  they  wear  the  cross  and  thorns 

of  Christhood 
In  their  noble  martyr  mood  ! 

Let  us  help  them  !    Oh,  ye  hearts  of  loyal 

women  ! 

For  your  hands  is  not  the  sword  ! 
To  heal  and  not  to  wound,  your  blessed  mis 
sion, 

Handmaidens  of  the  Lord  ! 
Be  the  Marys  of  this  suffering  Republic ; 

Take  your  places  at  its  feet ; 
Ye  are  gentle,  and  your  hands  have  skill  in 

healing, 
And  your  words  are  pure  and  sweet ! 

Ye  loyal  men,  who  love   the  Nation's  wel 
fare, 

Help  us  freely,  without  thought; 
Strengthen  well  the  hands  by  which  this  fear 
ful  ransom 
For  Freedom's  cause  is  wrought. 


80  AN  APPEAL. 

Oh,   loyal   hearts  !   behold    your    country's 

altar 

Awaits  your  sacrifice  ; 
Through   your   offerings,  the  pledge    of  its 

redemption, 
Shall  its  new-born  glory  rise  ! 


TRUTH  IS  INVINCIBLE. 

(VERITAS    V1NCIT.) 
[Motto  on  the  banner  presented  to  a  Eegiment.] 


TTERITAS   VINCIT I    Our  soul-stirring 
^        motto ! 
All  worthy  to  wave  o'er  tlie  breadth  of  the 

world  ; 

The  banner  that  bears  it  aloft  is  victorious, 
And  never  in   sorrow  or  shame  shall  be 
furled. 

Veritas  Vincit !     Our  God-given  promise  ! 

Before  it  the  forehead  of  evil  must  quail ; 
Though  wrong  may  enshroud  it,  and  guilt 
may  becloud  it,  — 

A  God  is  its  author,  it  never  can  fail ! 


82  TRUTH  IS  INVINCIBLE. 

Veritas  Vincit !     In  triumph  proclaim  it ! 
O  knight  of  the  holy,  the  pure,  and  the 

true  ! 

O  warrior  !  O  poet !  O  Christian  !  O  states 
man  ! 

O  friend  of  the  right !  here  's  a  motto  for 
you! 

Veritas  Vincit !    There  's  life  in  its  music  ! 
Be    it   blazoned   in   glory  on   every   true 

breast ; 

And  leal  hearts  respond  to  its  magical  ac 
cents, 

From  the  North  to  the  South,  from  the 
East  to  the  West ! 


EANKED   HIGHER. 

TTTE  fell  as  a  soldier  should  fall,  — 

He  died  as  a  hero  should  die,  — 
With  his  sword  in  his  hand,  and  his  face  to 

the  foe, 

And  the  victory-flash  in  his  eye ! 
And  proudly,  in  spite  of  its  pain, 

Swells  the  patriot's  spirit  for  him ; 
For  the  bays  that  we  lay  on  this  passionless 

brow 
No  frost  of  the  Future  shall  dim. 

He  left  us,  too  early,  alas ! 
The  valiant  of  heart  and  of  hand  ; 
But  the  tears  of  the  pure  and  the  blood  of 

the  brave 
Must  flow  for  the  life  of  the  land. 


84  RANKED  HIGHER. 

And  say,  shall  the  poisonous  root 
Of  Treason  e'er  thrive  in  the  soil 

Now  red  with  the    blood  of  our  princeliest 

hearts, 
And  rich  with  our  treasure  and  toil  ? 

Ye  sons  of  your  country,  awake  ! 

Take  the  path  that  your  heroes  have  trod ! 
Your  noblest  and  dearest  have  given  their 
lives,  — 

Owe  ye  nothing  to  right  and  to  God  ? 
If  your  martyred  are  dear  to  your  hearts, 

Let  them  live  in  the  blows  ye  shall  deal ; 
Pledge  remembrance  of  those  *  on  the  hilt  of 
the  sword, 

Whose  hearts  were  as  true  as  its  steel. 

*  The  martyrs  of  Fredericksburg. 


THE   SNOW  AT   FREDERICKSBURG. 

TPiRIFT  over  the  slopes  of  the  sunrise  land, 

O  wonderful,  wonderful  snow  ! 
Oh,  pure  as  the  breast  of  a  virgin  saint ! 

Drift  tenderly,  soft,  and  slow, 
Over  the  slopes  of  the  sunrise  land, 

And  into  the  haunted  dells 
Of   the  forests   of  pine,  where  the  sobbing 

winds 
Are  tuning  their  memory  bells ;  — 

Into  the  forests  of  sighing  pines, 

And  over  those  yellow  slopes 
That    seem    but    the  work  of  the  cleaving 
plough, 

But  cover  so  many  hopes  ! 
They  are  many  indeed,  and  straightly  made, 

Not  shapen  with  loving  care  ; 


86   THE  SNOW  AT  FREDER1CKSBURG. 

But  the  souls  let  out  and  the  broken  blades 
May  never  be  counted  here  ! 

Fall  over  those  lonely  hero  graves, 

O  delicate-dropping  snow  ! 
Like  the  blessing  of  God's  unfaltering  love 

On  the  warrior  heads  below ; 
Like  the  tender  sigh  of  a  mother's  soul, 

As  she  waiteth  and  watcheth  for  one 
Who  will  never  come  back  from  the  sunrise 
land 

When  this  terrible  war  is  done. 

And  here,  where  lieth  the  high  of  heart, 

Drift,  white  as  the  bridal  veil 
That  will  never  be  worn  by  the  drooping  girl 

Who  sitteth  afar,  so  pale. 
Fall,  fast  as  the  tears  of  the  suffering  wife, 

Who  stretcheth  despairing  hands 
Out  to  the  blood-rich  battle-fields 

That  crimson  the  eastern  sands. 

Fall  in  thy  virgin  tenderness, 
O  delicate  snow  !  and  cover 


THE  SNOW  AT  FREDERICKSBURG.  87 

The  graves  of  our  heroes,  sanctified, 

Husband,  and  son,  and  lover. 
Drift  tenderly  over  those  yellow  slopes, 

And  mellow  our  deep  distress, 
And  put  us  in  mind  of  the  shriven  souls, 

And  their  mantles  of  righteousness. 


THE   BATTLE   OF   GETTYSBURG. 


nnHE  days  of  June  were  nearly  done  ; 

The  fields,  with  plenty  overrun, 
Were  ripening  'neath  the  harvest  sun, 
In  fruitful  Pennsylvania. 

Sang  birds  and  children,  "  All  is  well  !  " 
When,  sudden,  over  hill  and  dell, 
The  gloom  of  coming  battle  fell 

On  peaceful  Pennsylvania  ! 

Through  Maryland's  historic  land, 
With  boastful  tongue  and  spoiling  hand, 
They  burst  —  a  fierce  and  famished  band 
Right  into  Pennsylvania  ! 

In  Cumberland's  romantic  vale 

Was  heard  the  plundered  farmer's  wail  ; 


THE  BATTLE   OF   GETTYSBURG.     89 

And  every  mother's  cheek  was  pale, 
In  blooming  Pennsylvania  I 

With  taunt  and  jeer,  and  shout  and  song, 
Through  rustic  towns  they  passed  along, 
A  confident  and  braggart  throng, 

Through  frightened  Pennsylvania  ! 

The  tidings  startled  hill  and  glen  ; 
Up  sprang  our  hardy  Northern  men, 
And  there  was  speedy  travel  then, 
All  into  Pennsylvania ! 

The  foe  laughed  out  in  open  scorn, 
For  Union  men  were  coward-born  ! 
And  then  —  they  wanted  all  the  corn 
That  grew  in  Pennsylvania  I 
******* 
It  was  the  languid  hour  of  noon, 
When  all  the  birds  were  out  of  tune, 
And  Nature  in  a  sultry  swoon, 

In  pleasant  Pennsylvania,  — 


90     THE  BATTLE   OF   GETTYSBURG. 

When,  sudden  o'er  the  slumbering  plain, 
Red  flashed  the  battle's  fiery  rain, 
The  volleying  cannon  shook  again 

The  hills  of  Pennsylvania  ! 

Beneath  that  curse  of  iron  hail, 
That  threshed  the  plain  with  flashing  flail, 
Well  might  the  stoutest  soldier  quail 
In  echoing  Pennsylvania  ! 

Then,  like  a  sudden  summer  rain, 
Storm-driven  o'er  the  darkened  plain, 
They  burst  upon  our  ranks  amain, 
In  startled  Pennsylvania  ! 

We  felt  the  old,  ancestral  thrill, 
From  sire  to  son  transmitted  still, 
And  fought  for  Freedom  with  a  will, 
In  pleasant  Pennsylvania  ! 

The  breathless  shock,  —  the  maddened  toil, 
The  sudden  clinch,  —  the  sharp  recoil,  — 


THE  BATTLE  OF   GETTYSBURG.     91 

And  we  were  masters  of  the  soil, 
In  bloody  Pennsylvania  ! 

To  westward  fell  the  beaten  foe  ; 
The  growl  of  battle,  hoarse  and  low, 
Was  heard  anon,  but  dying  slow, 

In  ransomed  Pennsylvania ! 

Sou'westward,  with  the  sinking  sun, 
The  cloud  of  battle,  dense  and  dun, 
Flashed  into  fire,  —  and  all  was  Avon 
In  joyful  Pennsylvania ! 

But  ah,  the  heaps  of  loyal  slain  ! 
The  bloody  toil !  the  bitter  pain  ! 
For  those  who  shall  not  stand  again 
In  pleasant  Pennsylvania ! 

Back  through  the  verdant  valley  lands, 
Fast  fled  the  foe,  in  frightened  bands, 
With  broken  swords  and  empty  hands, 
Out  of  Pennsylvania ! 


THE   GRAVES   OF   GETTYSBURG. 

[National  Cemetery  at  Gettysburg.] 

T  ET  us  lay  them  where  they  fell, 
-"  When  their  work  was  done  so  well  ! 
Dumb  and  stricken,  — leaving  others 
All  the  glorious  news  to  tell. 

All  the  yellow  harvest  field, 
Cursed  with  a  crimson  yield, 
'Neath  the  thrusting  in  of  sickles, 
As  the  battle  waxed  or  reeled  ! 

They,  with  faces  to  the  foe, 
Lost  to  pain,  and  peace,  and  woe, 
Armored  in  the  inspiration 
Of  the  old  heroic  glow, 


THE   GRAVES   OF   GETTYSBURG.    93 

Rushing  grandly  unto  death  ! 
Eyes  ablaze  and  'bated  breath,  — 
Second-sighted  for  the  future,  — 
Here  they  piled  the  trampled  heath ! 

Here  for  Liberty  they  stood, 
Writ  their  records  in  their  blood, 
On  the  forehead  of  the  epoch, 
In  a  grand  historic  mood  ! 

Let  us  lay  them  side  by  side, 
In  their  awful  martyr  pride ; 
They  will  slumber  well  and  sweetly, 
Spite  of  wailings  far  and  wide. 

And  their  story  shall  be  told 
When  this  Present,  gray  and  old, 
Loses  each  distinctive  feature 
In  the  Future's  ample  fold. 

Well,  the  work  was  fitly  done ! 
Well,  the  day  was  proudly  won  ! 


94     THE   GRAVES  OF    GETTYSBURG. 

But,  —  this  nook  that  bloomed  with  battle, 
There  's  no  rarer  'neath  the  sun  ! 

Let  us  lay  them  where  they  fell, 
When  their  work  was  done  so  well ! 
In  the  martyr's  noble  silence, 
Leaving  us  the  tale  to  tell. 


THE   RANSOMED   BANNER. 

[Asa  W.  Blanchard,  Sergeant-Major  Nineteenth  Regiment 
Indiana  Volunteers,  was  killed  at  Gettysburg,  Wednesday, 
July  the  1st,  while  rescuing  the  colors  of  the  company, 
(which  had  been  left  behind  when  the  regiment  was  ordered 
to  retreat,  four  color-bearers  having  been  shot  down,)  and 
which  he  succeeded  in  saving.] 


times  the  banner  of  the  free 
Had  lowered  its  front  at  Treason's  will, 
Four  times,  victorious,  from  the  dust 
It  saw  our  arms  triumphant  still. 

And  every  time  its  folds  went  down, 
A  hero  soul  went  up  to  God  ; 

Yet  swift  the  fatal  place  was  filled, 
And  still  our  colors  waved  abroad. 

The  place  was  slippery  with  our  blood, 
Where  we  fell,  fighting  for  our  land  ! 


96  THE  RANSOMED  BANNER. 

We  dropped  about,  like  withered  leaves, 
And  could  no  longer  make  a  stand. 


"  Retreat !  "     We,  chafing  at  the  word, 
Thrilled  through  and  through  with  loyal 
shame,  — 

In  sullen  gloom  we  wheeled  about, 
Our  souls  with  fierce  regret  aflame  ! 

When  one,  a  noble,  fair-faced  boy, 

Whom  Fate  had  nurtured  for  that  hour,  — 

He  ignorant  of  his  high  emprise,  — 
Sprang  up,  full-statured,  into  power. 

The  ancient  thrill  of  prophet  flame, 

The  spirit  of  our  primal  men, 
Transfiguring  our  common  clay, 

Flashed  through  the  youthful  hero  then  I 

"  Our  flag  !  our  flag  forever,  boys  !  " 
He  tore  it  from  the  spoiler's  hand  ; 

One  moment  o'er  his  dauntless  head 
It  waved,  —  the  glory  of  the  land  ! 


THE  RANSOMED  BANNER. 


97 


And  then  !  —  young  martyr  of  the  West, 
Our  tears  must  drown  the  tribute-song  ; 

But  ever  shall  thy  memory  live, 

While  Right  shall  battle  with  the  Wrong  ! 


BRINGING   HIM   HOME! 


[Col. 


who  led  a  charge  at  Pittsburg  Landing,  was 


reported  to  be  alive  and  well  at  the  very  time  when  his 
body  was  being  taken  to  his  family.] 


,  mother!     What  's  the   matter? 

How  you  stare  ! 
Why  won't  you  let  me  see  the  letter,  too  ? 
Why  do  you  hide    it?     'T  is  from   Henry 

Gray, 
And  so  there  must  be  news  from  the  battle 

field,  — 

Perhaps  a  word  of  dearest  Alfred,  too  ! 
He  has  not  written,  —  he  's  too  busy  now,  — 
My  brave  I  my  soldier  !  loyal  lion-heart  ! 
Forever  foremost  in  the  advancing  ranks. 
He  was,  I  know,  among  the  very  first 
To  front  the  foe  and  drive  him  from  his  lair. 


BRINGING  HIM  HOME  !  99 

I  read  it  in  the  paper  yesterday,  how  the 
stanch  Seventh 

Swooped  upon  the  foe,  and  backed  their  Col 
onel  in  his  brilliant  charge. 

And  he  ?  He  was  not  hurt ;  they  're  sure 
of  that. 

I  breathed  not,  moved  not,  till  I  read  so  far ; 

And  then  I  fell  all  quivering  on  my  knees, 

Not  to  pray,  but  weep  out  all  my  thankful 
ness. 

And  then  my  life  was  shaken  with  the  rush 

Of  the  exultant  blood  that  fired  my  face, 

Because  my  soul  stood  proudly  up  and  said : 

"  This  hero  whom  his  brethren  honor  so,  — 

This  man  on  whom  the  nation's  eyes  are 
turned,  — 

Is  mine,  my  husband !  "  — 

What  is  it,  mother  ?     Nay  !     I  '11  see  it  too  ! 

It  is  not  fair  to  jest  and  cheat  me  now  ; 

'T  is  pitiful,  trifling  with  a  hungry  soul. 

Give  me  the  letter.  Why  !  how  white  you 
are  ! 

No  trifling  now  !  I  will  know  what  it  means  ! 


100  BRINGING   HIM  HOME! 

"  Bringing  him  home  !  "     Dear  God  !  —  My 

life  !  _  What 's  here  ? 
Bringing  him  home  !    Why  should  they  bring 

him  home  ? 
Why,   what  's  the   matter  with  my  foolish 

head  ? 
There  's  something  snapped   inside   of  it,  I 

think. 
Lies  !  lies  !  lies  !     I  don't  believe  it,  —  not  a 

word  of  it ! 

They  've  forged  this  letter  just  to  frighten  me  ; 
There  's  some  mistake,  they  mean  another 

man. 
Smile,   sweet  my  mother !    for  the  love  of 

Heaven, 
And  tell  me  for  my  life's  sake  I  am  right. 

The  world  's  all  dark,  —  my  soul ! 

The  day  was  bright  a  little  while  agone  I 

WeU  !  well !  I  'm  hurt  so  deep  I  cannot  feel 

the  smart. 

Let  me  lie  down  and  hide  my  face  somewhere, 
In  some  dark  place,  and  that  is  all  I  want. 


BRINGING  HIM  HOME!  101 

No  words  !     No  words  !     You  jar  me  when 

you  speak  ; 

I  never  want  to  see  the  light  again  !  — 
He  's  dead,  you  say  ?  Well,  then,  the  world  's 

all  dead ; 
Let  me  be  dead,  too  !  — 

Bringing  him  home  !     My  pride  !  my  sweet  I 

my  all ! 

He  wrote  me  he  was  coming ;  and  all  day 
I  sat  and  listened  for  his  homeward  feet. 
He  said, "  Sweet  wife  !  "  one  little  week  ago, — 
His  farewell  kiss  is  warm  upon  my  mouth ; 
And  now  ?  —  They  're  bringing  Mm  home  ! 
Why !  there  's  his  letter  on  the  table  there,  — 
His  very  last !    and   the   tender   hand   that 

wrote 

Will  never  stroke  my  nestling  head  again  ; 
And  when  I  kiss  him  he  '11  not  kiss  me  back ; 
And  when  I  suffer  he  '11  not  comfort  me. 
God  !  are  you  just  ?     You  knew  he  was  my 

all! 
And  so  !  —  they  're  bringing  him  home  ! 


102  BRINGING  HIM  HOME! 

I  wonder  if  the  violets  are  all  dead,  — 
His  eyes  were  like  them  ! 
Well,  if  their  roots  are  planted  on  our  graves, 
They  '11  blossom  blue  and  thick,  this  time  next 

year. 

Oh,  my  dead  soldier !  Oh,  my  life's  one  love  ! 
I  think  I  could  have  borne  it  better  if 
You  'd  kissed  me  only  once  before  you  died  ! 
Say,  do  you  miss  me,  darling,  up  in  heaven  ? 
I  want  you  so,  that  if  God  lets  me  go, 
I  '11  leave  the  world  to  find  you,  — 
I  cannot  wait  until  they  "  bring  you  home" 


PREACHING  IN   CAMP. 


nnHE  rich  light 

Fell  tenderly  and  like  a  heaven-sent 

blessing 

Upon  the  prayerful,  upturned  faces 
Of  a  great  multitude. 

The  musical  swell 

Of  song  sublime  pealed  out  its  triumph  glad  ; 
And  my  rapt  soul  went  out  upon  the  wings, 
The  viewless  wings  of  melody,  and  left 

This  weary  land, 

And  sought  a  glorious  one  beyond  the  stars, 
Where  life  is  love,  and  love  is  infinite  ; 
Where  shadows  never  come  to  dim  the  light 
Of  perfect  blessedness. 


104  PREACHING  IN  CAMP. 

The  music  ceased, 
And  looking  up,   I   saw,  through   lingering 

tears, 
A  wan,    half  spiritual   form,  —  an    earnest 

face, 

Whose  greatest  beauty  was  its  intense  look 
Of  self-devotedness. 

He  spoke,  and  then  it  seemed 
As  if  that  living  mass  had  but  one  heart,  — 
One  mighty  quivering,  throbbing  heart,  — 
And  each  word  pierced  it  through. 

And  strong  men  cowered 
Before  his  searching  words,  and  every  eye 
Was  drawn  to  his,  and  helpless  hands  were 

wrung, 
And   tears  welled   up  unbidden,  —  stranger 

guests 

To  eyes  unused  to  weep,  and  the  rent  heart, 
The  mighty  heart  of  that  great  multitude, 
Sent  up  its  terrible  wail. 


PREACHING  IN  CAMP.  105 

And  then  at  last 

He  stood  all  silent,  weary,  pale,  and  spent, 
And  quivering  with  emotion.     Not  a  sound 
Was  heard  within  the  camp  save  murmured 
prayer 

And  stifled  sobs  and  groans 

Until,  with  face  serene  and  sanctified, 
He  raised  his  hands  and  said  all  solemnly : 
"  Now,  let  us  pray." 

A  holy  silence  fell 

Upon  us  then.     I  know  not  what  he  said  ; 
I  know  not  how  he  prayed  ;  I  only  know 
I  felt  his  words  within  my  inmost  soul, 
And  bowed  in  awe,  for  Crod  was  very  near. 


JEFFERSON   DAVIS. 

mRAITOR  !     Aye  !     Upon  tliy  brow 

Guilt's  dark  shades  are  lowering  fast, 
Fame  !  what  is  it  to  thee  now  ? 
All  its  serpent  wiles  are  past. 
Thou  dost  feel 
O'er  thee  steal 

Dire  despair  ;  't  will  soon  dissever 
All  life's  joy  from  thee  forever  I 

Traitor  !     Aye  !     What  made  thee  so  ? 

Couldst  thou  act  this  craven  part, 
Thus  in  hellish  wisdom  grow, 
With  no  demon  in  thy  heart  ? 
He  was  there, 
And  each  snare 

Told  upon  thy  weak  resistance, 
Till  thy  soul  was  past  assistance. 


JEFFERSON  DAVIS.  107 

For  I  cannot  think  a  mortal, 

With  God's  seal  upon  his  brow, 
Thus  could  stand  within  the  portal 
Of  the  Inferno  ;  heavy  woe 
Thou  wilt  lay 
On  the  day 

When  the  fiend,  with  deep  beguiling, 
Brought  thee  o'er  to  hear  his  wiling. 

Traitor !  —  to  the  noblest,  dearest 

Interests  of  human  life  ! 
Traitor  !  — to  the  truest,  nearest, 
Who  stood  by  thee  in  the  strife ! 
All  is  o'er, 
Ah  !  no  more 

Life,  its  hues  from  fancy  taking, 
Shall  seem  fresh  with  each  awaking. 

And  thy  sin  shall  haunt  thy  slumber, 
Cankering  all  the  joy  of  sleep  ; 

And  remorse  shall  make  thee  number 
Every  breath  with  anguish  deep. 


108 


JEFFERSON  DAVIS. 


In  despair 

Thou  wouldst  tear 
From  thy  soul  life's  hateful  fetter, 
Couldst  thou  hope  thy  lot  to  better. 


THE   PRESIDENT'S   PROCLAMATION 

AUTHORIZING   THE   MUSTERING    INTO    SERVICE    OF   COL 
ORED    REGIMENTS. 

IFT  up  the  bowed,  desponding  head, 
"^   O  long-enduring  race  ! 
Let  the  meek  sufferance  of  your  eyes 
Abash  the  tyrant's  face. 

Take  courage,  O  despairing  race  ! 

The  tides  of  fortune  turn, 
When  white  men  take  in  kindly  clasp 

The  hand  they  used  to  spurn  ! 

Go  into  battle  side  by  side 

With  men  of  fairer  hue  ; 
We  will  not  hinder  by  our  scorn 

The  work  you  have  to  do  ! 


110    THE  PRESIDENTS  PROCLAMATION. 

Despised,  rejected,  cast  away, 
Ye  are  God's  children  yet ! 

And  on  the  foreheads  of  your  race 
His  mercy-seal  is  set ! 


A   GREETING   FOR  A  NEW   YEAR. 


in!  come  in! 

Thou  shining  messenger  of  God  ! 
Untroubled  yet  by  grief  or  sin, 
Thy  weary  pilgrimage  untrod. 

Thy  unsunned  brow  is  beautified, 
And  crowned  with  glory  by  His  grace  ; 
He  breathes  the  blessing  of  His  love 
Upon  thy  young,  unwritten  face. 

Come  in  !  come  in  ! 
For  millions  of  impatient  hands 

Are  stretched  to  draw  the  stranger  in, 
From  sunrise  unto  sunset  lands. 

The  dusky  children  of  the  South, 
With  fair-haired  Northmen,  wait  to  press 

Upon  thy  rich  unsullied  mouth 
The  greeting  of  their  happiness  ! 


112  A  -GREETING  FOR  A  NEW   YEAR. 

Come  in  I  come  in  ! 
And  let  thy  brows  be  olive  bound, 

A  hazel  wand  thy  hand  within, 
And  time  thy  footsteps  to  the  sound 

Of  breathing  lyre,  in  measure  sweet ; 
So  shall  these  notes  of  ruffian  war 

Die  out  abashed,  in  silence  meet, 
And  LOVE  become  our  guiding  star. 

Come  in  !  come  in  ! 
And  let  thy  song  be  sweet  and  mild  ; 

So,  haply,  hearing  thou  shalt  win, 
And  calm  this  storm  of  passion  wild, 

And  bid  this  jarring  discord  cease, 
To  the  grand  chorus  of  our  song 

Restore  the  missing  voice  of  Peace, 
And  crush  the  many-headed  Wrong  ! 

Come  in  !  come  in  I 
We  crown  thee  with  our  holiest  prayers, 

Almost  to  suffering  akin, 
For  they  are  breathed  through  suppliant  tears, 

We  crown  thee  with  a  reverent  hand, 


A   GREETING  FOR  A  NEW   YEAR.  113 

That  gives  its  nearest,  dearest  gift,  — 

A  wish  —  that  from  our  troubled  land 
Thy  coming  may  the  shadows  lift ! 

Come  in  !  come  in  ! 
We  '11  pledge  thee  in  a  draught  divine,  — 

A  rarer,  costlier  ne'er  hath  been,  — 
And  Hope  shall  bear  the  blushing  wine. 

It  mantles  with  the  high  resolve 
Of  many  a  noble  patriot  heart, 

No  matter  who  may  traitor  prove, 
We  trust  in  God  and  do  our  part ! 


A   SUPPLICATION. 

T^iEAR  Lord  !  our  wandering  feet 

Come  to  Thy  mercy-seat ; 
Oil,  let  Thy  favor  greet 

Our  poor  endeavor  ! 
Turn  not  away  Thy  face, 
Let  not  the  dwelling-place 
Of  Thy  redeeming  grace 

Be  void  forever ! 

God  of  the  fair  and  free  ! 
We  bring  our  cause  to  Thee, 
Humbly,  on  bended  knee, 

A  suffering  nation  ! 
Oh,  hear !  Thou  wilt  and  must ; 
Thou  canst  not  scorn  our  trust, 
Nor  tread  into  the  dust 

Thine  own  creation  ! 


A   SUPPLICATION.  H5 

Hear  us,  our  fathers'  God  ! 
Stay  Thy  chastising  rod, 
Our  feet  the  ways  have  trod, 

Of  desolation. 

Lay  by  Thy  righteous  wrath, 
Preserve  us  free  from  scath, 
Shine  o'er  our  onward  path, 
Be  our  salvation ! 

Arise  I  Thy  people  free, 
Erst  as  on  Galilee 
Bid  these  dark  discords  flee, 

Thy  triumph  voicing. 
Let  all  the  earth  arise, 
With  loud,  exultant  cries 
Unite  to  rend  the  skies 

With  strong  rejoicing ! 


THE  VOLUNTEER'S   RETURN. 

A   H  !  you  're  come  back  too  late,  darling ! 

'T  is  but  to  see  me  die  ; 
Trust  not  this  strange,  delusive  glow, 

This  brightness  in  my  eye  ; 
For  see  how  lightly  lies  my  hand, 
How  thin  within  your  clasp,  — 
So  quick  and  strong  its  pulses  were 
When  last  it  felt  your  grasp  ! 

This  poor,  unworthy  face,  darling, 

Ah  !  hide  it  in  your  breast ; 
'T  is  long  since  last  my  weary  head 

To  its  true  home  was  pressed. 
I  only  want  to  lie  and  look 

Into  your  blessed  eyes  ; 
'T  is  weary  months  since  thus  they  shone 

So  free  from  all  dismiise. 


THE   VOLUNTEER'S  RETURN.     117 

And  when  I  saw  you  march  away, 

Without  one  parting  word, 
While  the  brave  hearts  of  your  regiment, 

By  martial  notes  were  stirred, 
I  felt  the  ice  within  my  heart, 

The  fire  within  my  brain  ; 
And  all  my  life  since  then  has  been 

One  long-enduring  pain ! 

Ah,  God  !  if  I  could  live,  darling  ! 

Live  but  for  your  dear  sake  ; 
To  think  that  I  must  leave  you  now, 

My  heart  is  like  to  break  ! 
And  yet  't  is  not  such  weary  pain 

As  when  you  went  away ; 
Oh,  I  suffered  and  I  missed  you  so, 

Through  every  dreary  day  ! 

And  then  't  was  dreadful,  when  the  night 
Brought  back  your  darling  face, 

And  gave  me  in  a  mocking  dream 
Its  dear,  remembered  grace, 


118      THE   VOLUNTEERS  RETURN. 

To  start  and  stretch  my  yearning  arms 

And  clasp  the  empty  air,  — 
To  waken  in  the  cold  and  dark 

And  feel  you  were  not  there  ! 

To  know  that  you  were  lost,  darling, 

To  me  forevermore,  — 
To  know  my  soul's  young  life  had  shed 

The  freshness  that  it  wore 
When  we  walked  together  hand  in  hand, 

And  I  looked  up  to  you, 
To  read  within  your  eyes  your  thought 

Of  all  that  I  might  do ! 

Too  late,  too  late  I  found,  darling, 

You  were  the  world  to  me  ! 
My  highest  pride,  no  matter  what 

The  careless  eye  might  see. 
But  I  never  wronged  you,  even  in  thought, 

My  pulse's  lightest  beat 
Was  yours,  even  as  the  faithful  heart 

You  trampled  'neath  your  feet. 


THE   VOLUNTEERS  RETURN.      119 

But  now  you  know  it  all,  darling, 

You  know  that  I  was  true,  — 
They  could  not  stir  one  bitter  thought 

For  all  that  they  could  do  ; 
Within  your  strong  and  tender  arms 

This  last  time  let  me  lie, 
And  tell  me  that  you  love  me,  dear, 

Once  more  before  I  die  ! 

I  do  not  mind  it  now,  darling ; 

Here,  take  my  hand  in  thine,  — 
You  may  find  a  brighter,  fairer  face, 

But  ne'er  a  heart  like  mine  ! 
Oh,  hold  me  closer,  closer  yet, 

And  kiss  me  ere  we  part ! 
I  'd  rather  die  and  keep  your  love, 

Than  live  and  lose  your  heart ! 


OUR   CAUSE 

IN  1861. 

BY  all  the  undying  memories  of  the  past, 
Which   shall  this  hour  of  treacherous 

calm  outlast, 
We  know  we  stand 

Above  an  Etna  of  unquenched  fire, 
Which,  soon  or  late,  shall  burst  upon  the 

land 

In  its  resistless  ire. 
These  gauds  which  deck  its  sod  in  gay  array, 

Must  soon  be  torn  away,  — 
The  awful  secret  from  its  depths  come  forth, 
To  scare  the  wondering  earth ! 

Because  an  evil  power, 
In  one  unguarded  hour, 


OUR   CAUSE.  121 

Guised  in  the  folds  of  Freedom's  virgin  vest, 
Crept  into  a  great  nation's  peaceful  breast. 

None  dreamed  of  inward  foe  ; 

And,  working  sure,  but  slow, 
At  length  the  Curse,  with  high  uplifted  head, 
Defied,  and  sought  to  tread 
Into  the  dust  the  friend  whose  heart  its  life 
had  cherished  I 

The  soul  of  Treason  came, 

And  breathed  with  breath  of  flame 

On  the  cool  waters  of  a  nation's  rest ; 
And  Wrong  walked  through  the  land, 
With  overbearing  hand  ; 

And   from   the    East    to   the   resounding 

West, 

Contention's  brands  flared  out, 
And  Indignation  raised  the  mutinous  shout : 

A  band  of  frantic  fools, 

Gone  mad  upon  the  isms  of  the  day, 
Are  Treason's  chosen  tools, 

Drawn  up  against  us,  in  a  rash  array  I 


122  OUR   CAUSE. 

Our  equals,  and  our  brothers  yet,  —  but  late 
They  seek  to  rank  above  us  in  the  State, 
To  wrest  from  us  a  God-donated  right, 

By  force  of  fraud  or  might. 
Of  all  hope  for  the  present  now  bereft, 

What  course  to  us  is  left  ? 

But  one.     And  yet, 
We  cannot  quite  forget 
They  are  co-claimants  in  each  blood-bought 

right ; 
That,  hand  to  hand  to   Freedom's  fearless 

fight 

Their  sires  with  ours  went  forth,  — 
Though,  in  the  oneness  of  their  patriot  worth, 
They  knew  not  of  a  separate  South  or  North. 

And  could  they  live 

To  view  the  fortunes  of  this  desperate  day, 
We  know  that  they  would  give 

Their  blessing  to  our  UNION'S  Rights  ar 
ray ! 
The  cause  in  which  they  fought, 


OUR   CAUSE.  123 

In  that  our  deeds  are  wrought. 

Our  foes  must  understand, 

No  impious  human  hand 
May  dare  their  sacred  compact  set  at  nought ! 

But  they  who  say 

That  hands  of  ours  have  lit  this  baleful 

fire, — 
They  wrong  the  lion  at  bay, 

Mistake  the  impulse  of  our  righteous  ire  ! 
No  !  loyal  hearts  bleed  for  the  wanton  wreck 

That  envy's  hand  hath  made,  — 
To  see  our  glorious  star-crown  pale  and  fade, 

And   Treason's   dastard   foot   on  Union's 

neck ; 

Even  tears  of  living  blood  could  not  atone 
The  grievous  wrong  unto  our  Present  done  ! 

Be  it  upon  the  heads 

Of  those  who  sought  to  tread 
The  interests  of  their  brothers  in  the  dust ! 
They  were  recreant  to  each  sacred  trust. 
Our  temperate  pleas  were  thrust 


124  OUR   CAUSE. 

Back  with  insulting  defiance  to  our  hand  ; 
We  were  driven  to  the  wall,  — 
We  must  either  fight  or  fall,  — 

No  choice  was  left  us  but  this  desperate  stand. 

But,  brothers,  we  are  strong, 
Clad  in  the  God-born  might  which  doth  be 
long 

To  every  soul  that  hath  its  quarrel  just, 
Not  on  the  treacherous  sand  we  plant  our 

trust, 

But  on  an  enduring  rock, 
Which  feeleth  not  the  shock 
Of  each  presumptuous  and  assaulting  Wrong. 
God  fighteth  for  the  Right ! 
He  will  our  prayers  requite, 
And  lead  us  from  this   darkness   to   the 
light  I 

Oh,  we  could  pray  that  Peace, 

With  its  soft,  silken  ease, 
Might  settle  down  upon  our  troubled  land, 
And  stay  the  impious  hand 


OUR   CAUSE.  125 

That  would  dissolve  the  band 

That  holds  the  jewels  of  our  country's  crown  ! 

But  be  it  life  or  death, 

Soft  words  or  defiant  breath, 
The  motto  of  our  banner  gleameth  bright, 
Triumphant  o'er  the  night,  — 
God   and   our    life-blood    for   the   assaulted 
Right  I 

IN  1864. 

Oh,  triumph-bells,  ring  out, 

And  voice  the  exultant  shout,  — 
The  anthemed  chorus  of  a  Nation's  soul ! 

The  tides  of  battle  roll 

Our  Venture  to  its  goal ! 
And,  on  the  forehead  of  this  war-worn  age, 

The  Angel  of  all  time 

Shall  grave  a  deathless  rhyme  ; 
We  pause  to  turn  the  last  unwritten  page, 
Whose  story  shall  each  unborn  race  engage. 


MY  ABSENT   SOLDIER. 

1TWENING  shades  are  falling,  dearest, 

Night  is  drawing  on, 
And  the  sweet  stars  look  out  shyly, 

Slowly,  one  by  one  ; 
And  I  count  them,  with  my  forehead 

Pressed  against  the  pane  ; 
We  did  it  once  together,  dearest, 

Now  I  do  so  once  again. 

When  I  fold  my  hands,  dearest, 

To  breathe  a  "  good-night  "  prayer, 

Whose  name  is  it  lingers  longest 
On  the  evening  air  ? 

Yours.     And  then  I  slumber  softly  ; 
For  I  know  our  Lord 


MY  ABSENT  SOLDIER.  127 

Through  the  night's  long  hours  of  darkness 
Hath  you  in  His  ward  I 

How  much  I  think  of  you,  dearest ! 

I  know  that  very  oft 
My  features  rise  before  you, 

And  then  your  voice  grows  soft ; 
They  do  not  know  the  reason 

It  thrills  and  trembles  so  ; 
'T  is  the  beautiful  heart-music 

That  makes  it  sweet  and  low  ! 

God  bless  you  !  my  own  darling, 

And  keep  you  pure  and  fair  ; 
May  the  calm  glory  of  your  eyes 

Be  darkened  by  no  care  ; 
Your  love,  the  dearest  next  to  God's,  — 

Your  worth,  my  highest  pride  : 
Sweet  angels  guard  your  homeward  path, 

And  haste  you  to  my  side  ! 

But  if—  ah,  God  !  the  bitter  thought !  — 
You  should  not  come  again,  — 


128 


MY  ABSENT  SOLDIER. 


If  you  should  lie  out,  cold  and  still, 
Among  the  battle's  slain,  — 

I  could  not  bear  such  anguish,  love, 
For  all  that  I  could  do  ; 

I  know  my  widowed  heart  would  break. 
And  I  should  perish  too  I 


L.  H.  R. 

OH,  soldier-heart!     Oh,  knightly  soul ! 
Thine  is  the  nohlest  skill  of  all,  — 
That  keepeth  strength,  and  blood,  and  brain, 
Responsive  at  thy  country's  call ! 

No  thought  of  risk,  no  mean  distrust, 
Doth  mar  the  splendor  of  thy  life  ! 

Unbound  by  any  party  creed, 

Full-powered,  thou  goest  to  the -strife. 

Why,  let  them  strain,  the  paltering  crew! 

Who  toil  for  gain,  and  not  for  Right ; 
True  heart !  true  hand  !  thy  deeds  proclaim 

The  man  who  makes  the  noblest  fight ! 


MY   STORY. 

FEBRUARY  14,  1864. 

* 

T)RAVE,  generous  soul  I  I  grasp  the  hand 
-*-*  Which  instinct  teaches  me  is  true  ; 
This  were  indeed  a  rojal  world, 
If  all  were  like  to  you  I 

You  know  my  story.     In  my  youth 

The  hand  of  God  fell  heavily 
Upon  me,  —  and  I  knew  my  life 

From  thence  must  silent  be. 

I  think  my  will  was  broken  then,  — 
The  proud,  high  spirit,  tamed  by  pain  ; 

And  so  the  griefs  of  later  days 
Cannot  distract  my  brain. 


MY  STORY.  131 

But  my  poor  life,  so  silence-bound, 

Reached  blindly  out  its  helpless  hands, 

Craving  the  love  and  tenderness 
Which  every  soul  demands. 

I  learned  to  read  in  every  face 
The  deep  emotions  of  the  heart ; 

For  Nature  to  the  stricken  one 
Had  given  this  simple  art. 

The  world  of  sound  was  not  for  me  ; 

But  then  I  sought  in  friendly  eyes 
A  soothing  for  my  bitter  loss, 

When  memories  would  rise. 

And  I  was  happy  as  a  child, 

If  I  could  read  a  friendly  thought 

In  the  warm  sunshine  of  a  face, 
The  which  my  trust  had  wrought. 

******* 

But  then,  at  last,  they  bade  me  hope, 
They  told  me  all  might  yet  be  well .; 


132  MY  STORY. 

Oh  !  the  wild  war  of  joy  and  fear, 

I  have  not  strength  to  tell  ! 
******* 

Oh,  heavier  fell  the  shadow  then  ! 
And  thick  the  darkness  on  my  brain, 

When  hope  forever  fled  my  heart, 
And  left  me  only  pain. 

But  when  we  hope  not  we  are  calm, 
And  I  shall  learn  to  bear  my  cross, 

And  God,  in  some  mysterious  way, 
Will  recompense  this  loss. 

And  every  throb  of  spirit-pain 
Shall  help  to  sanctify  my  soul, — 

Shall  set  a  brightness  on  my  brow, 
And  harmonize  my  whole  ! 

By  suffering  weakened,  still  I  stand 
In  patient  waiting  for  the  peace 

Which  cometh  on  the  Future's  wing,  — 
I  wait  for  God's  release  ! 


MY  STORY.  133 

A  nation's  tears  !     A  nation's  pains  ! 

The  record  of  a  nation's  loss  ! 
My  God !  forgive  me  if  I  groan 

Beneath  my  lighter  cross  ! 

Henceforth,  thou  dear,  bereavM  land  ! 

I  keep  with  thee  thy  vigil-night ; 
My  prayers,  my  tears,  are  all  for  thee,  — 

God  and  the  deathless  Right ! 


WAITING   FOR  VICTORY. 


may  side  with  wrong  ; 

Right  shall  endure  I 
Justice  may  suffer  long  ; 

Right  shall  endure  ! 
Stubborn,  and  hot,  and  strong, 
Traitors  about  us  throng  ; 
This  our  unaltered  SOUP;  : 

o 

Riht  shall  endure  ! 


What  though  they  battle  well  ? 

Right  shall  endure  ! 
This  be  their  final  knell : 

Right  shall  endure ! 
Eager  their  lives  to  sell, 
Heroes  who  grandly  fell 


WAITING  FOR    VICTORY.          135 

Lingered  this  truth  to  tell : 

Right  shall  endure ! 

What  though  the  fight  be  hard  ? 

Right  shall  endure ! 
Be  the  day  evil-starred,  — 

Right  shall  endure  ! 
Triumph,  at  first  debarred,  — 
Victories  in  dawning  marred,  — 
Fall  back  upon  your  guard  ! 

Right  shall  endure  ! 

Stars  that  are  fixed  may  fall ; 

Right  shall  endure  ! 
Darkness  may  cover  all ; 

Right  shall  endure ! 
Ruin  may  droop  its  pall, 
This  our  unshaken  wall ; 
We,  from  behind  it  call : 

Right  shall  endure  ! 

Let  the  world  say  its  nay  ! 

Right  shall  endure  ! 


136          WAITING  FOR   VICTORY. 

Let  the  false  have  its  day  ! 

Right  shall  endure  ! 
Failure  may  block  the  way,  — 
Error  may  bring  dismay,  — 
Fixed,  through  this  long  delay, 

Eight  shall  endure  ! 


CHARGE  OF   BLAIR'S   BRIGADE   AT 
VICKSBURG. 

~V7"E  glorious  few,  who  blenched  not,  look 
ing  Death 

Full  in  the  face,  with  eyes  of  proud  dis 
dain,  — 

Who  won  a  benediction  from  the  land, 
Through  such  an  offering  of  martyr  pain ! 

Be  proud,  ye  brave  !     God  writes  a  victory 

down, 
And  no  defeat !  —  say  traitors  what  they 

will, 

To  you  the  world  awards  the  hero's  crown, 
To  them  a  scorning  sharp  enough  to  kill ! 


138     CHARGE  OF  BLAIR'S  BRIGADE. 

Oh,   souls  sublime  from  wrestling  with  the 

wrong ! 

I,  a  weak  woman,  scarcely  dare  to  raise 
My  voice,  through  tears,  to  swell  this  burst 

of  praise, 
But  that  enthusiasm  makes  me  strong  ! 


LOST  IN  THE   WILDERNESS. 

[The  Battles  of  the  Wilderness.] 

~\  /TY  love  !  my  only  love  1 
•*™  Where  lies  thy  head  to-night  ? 
Oh,  't  is  weary  waiting  for  break  of  day, 
And  for  tidings  of  the  fight ! 

o  o 

Somewhere  in  a  crowded  camp, 
Or,  mayhap,  on  a  ghastly  field, 

Is  lying  one  whom  my  jealous  heart, 
To  death  will  never  yield. 

My  love  !  my  only  love  ! 

But  the  rivers  roll  between, 
And  the  land,  it  stretcheth  for  weary  miles, 

In  summer  beauty  green  ! 
10 


140       LOST  IN  THE    WILDERNESS. 

My  love  !  my  only  love  ! 

But  the  night  is  long  and  lone, 
And  my  heart  goes  out,  through  the  dreary- 
dark, 

With  a  sore,  unsoothed  moan  ! 

My  love  !  my  only  love  ! 

But  my  arms  are  vacant  yet, 
And  the  cheeks  that  are  fading,  because  un- 
kissed, 

With  passionate  tears  are  wet ! 

My  love  !  my  only  love  ! 

My  life  is  a  wearing  pain, 
And  its  fulness  of  unshed  tenderness 

Maketh  it  ache  again  ! 

My  love  !  my  only  love  ! 

I  will  arise  and  go ; 
To  find  thee  is  all  that  is  left  to  me, 

If  thy  glory  lieth  low. 

*         *        *         *          *         #          * 

Alas  !  and  she  could  not  know, 

That  the  grass  was  springing  green, 


LOST  IN  THE    WILDERNESS.     141 

And   the   rank   weeds   hiding  a    something 

where 
A  knightly  soul  had  been. 

Alas,  for  the  faithful  heart ! 

Alas,  for  its  yearning  pain  ! 
He  hath  laid  him  down  in  the  Wilderness, 

Never  to  rise  again  ! 


S 


BUTLER'S   BLACK  BRIGADE. 
O   they  will   not   fight!     those   branded 


men, 

Whose  crime  is  a  dusky  skin ; 
They  are  dark  without,  so  't  is  fair  to  think 

The  blood  must  be  pale  within  ! 
They  will  not  fight  ?  You  have  crushed  them 

long, 

They  've  forgotten  the  way  to  turn  ! 
They  have  brains,  and  yet  they  remember 

not ; 
And  hearts,  but  they  never  burn  ! 

So,  they  will  not  fight  ?     You  remember  how 
They  cowered  in  last  July  ?  * 

*  The  New  York  riots,  July,  1863. 


BUTLERS  BLACK  BRIGADE.       143 

They  had  done  no  wrong,  but  their  skins 

were  black, 

'T  was  fitting  that  they  should  die  ! 
They  did  not  fight,  but  they  stand  to-day, 

As  stanchly  as  fairer  men  ; 
They  are  helping  you  on  to  your  triumph 

now, 
Who  were  hunted  and  tortured  then  ! 

Oh,  ye  will  not  take  in  a  kindly  clasp, 

The  hand  that  is  darker  than  yours  ! 
And  ye  will  not  walk  in  a  plainer  light, 

Nor  bury  these  ancient  scores  ! 
Oh,   shame  for   your   senseless  and  narrow 
creed ! 

And  shame  for  your  savage  hate  ! 
And   shame  for  the  dulness  that   does  not 
know, 

Like  ever  will  seek  its  mate  ! 

"  Free,"  not  "  equal,"  for  Mind  must  rule, 

And  Mind  must  decide  the  caste  ; 
And   the   largest   brain,  though  the  lowest 
down, 


144      BUTLERS  BLACK  BRIGADE. 

Must  go  highest  up,  at  the  last. 
What  is  it  ye  fear,  if  Mind  must  rule, 

And  the  earth  is  so  very  wide  ? 
Oh,    shame  for    your   shortness   of   mental 
sight ! 

And  shame  for  your  shallow  pride  ! 

So  they  will  not  fight  ?      But  the  grim  old 
man* 

Will  tell  you  another  tale,  — 
Fort  Pillow  's  their  St.  Bartholomew  ! 

Sepoys  of  the  South,  grow  pale  ! 
Perhaps,    when    they   hallow   this   common 
cause 

With  their  thousands  of  nameless  graves, 
Your  selfish  hearts  will  proclaim  at  last, 

They  are  men,  and  they  are  not  slaves ! 

*  Butler. 


TO  A.  E. 

(IN   PRISON   AT   RICHMOND.) 

FTIHERE  is  a  spirit  in  that  small,  slight 
frame, 

Which  long  captivity  could  never  cow  ; 

And  the  eye,  pent  beneath  that  hanging  brow, 

Would  never  blench  before  the  bared  steel. 

Prisoner  of  Richmond  !  As  thou  standest  now 

I  see  the  prison-blight  upon  thy  face  ! 

How  didst  thou  suffer,  in  those  long,  dull 
days, 

And  harder  yet,  those  terrible,  still  nights  ! 

No  word  from  home  !  No  wifely  fond  em 
brace  !  * 

Long  years  of  peace  can  never  do  away 

The  memory  of  those  pangs  that  turned  the 
spirit  gray  ! 

*  In  one  of  the  entries  in  his  journal  he  says,  "  If  I  could 
only  hear  from  my  wife !  " 


KENTUCKY'S   CRITTENDEN 

IN  1861. 

TTE  has  given  all  I 

His  heart,   his  soul,  his  strength,  his 

manhood's  prime ; 

Be  very,  very  gentle  with  him,  Time, 
And  let  our  prayers  thy  stern  demands  fore 
stall. 

He  has  given  all ! 

Oh,  ripening  head,  God's  harvest  is  anear ; 
Oh,  gentle  eyes  !  so  ready  with  a  tear, 
At  suffering's  plaintive  call. 

He  has  given  all ! 

Not  vainly,  —  like  some   blessed   household 
word, 


KENTUCKY'S  CR1TTENDEN.      147 

Whose  dropping  quivereth  on  some   tender 

chord, 
His  name  shall  ever  fall ! 


IN  1863. 

He  is  at  rest ! 

'T  was  like  a  lying  down  to  peaceful  dreams, 
Lulled  by  the  murmuring  of  summer  streams, 
To  be  awakened  by  the  morrow's  dreams. 

He  is  at  rest ! 

All  noisy  sorrow  were  unfitting  now  ; 
We  drop  no  tears  above  this  marble  brow, 
And  to  this  late  bereavement  humbly  bow. 

He  is  at  rest ! 

With  reverent  hands  we  bear  him  o'er  the 

sod, 

Where  lately  oft  his  trembling  footsteps  trod, 
And  leave  him  in  this  quiet  with  his  God. 


THE   QUIET  MAN. 

(GRANT.) 

r  MHERE  was  no  feasting  when  he  marched 

away, 

No  patriotic  speeches  ; 
His  calm  belief  in   Right   had  placed  him 

where 
No  egotism  reaches. 

He  was  above  them  all,  —  that  motley  crowd, 

Enthusiasts  and  pretenders, 
Who  make  long  speeches,  and  who  love  to 
call 

Themselves  the  land's  defenders  ! 

Then  he  went  gravely,  earnestly  to  work, 
And  lo,  a  great  sensation  ! 


THE   QUIET  MAN.  149 

For  soon  they  found  lie  was  the  only  man, 
With  skill  to  serve  the  nation. 

And  so  they  said,  "  Among  the  men  who 
aspire 

To  office  let  us  rank  you  ;  " 
But  he  was  neither  fool  nor  knave,  and  said, 

Decidedly,  "  No,  thank  you." 

At  last  they  gave  up  trying  to  make  him  talk, 
And  cheered  for  him  immensely  ; 

But  he  held  quiet,  and  was  not  satisfied, 
Unless  he  worked  intensely. 

"  One  still,  strong  man  !  "     We  've  waited 
long  for  him  ; 

He  lives  by  acts,  not  speeches. 
Legion  of  talkers  !  do  you  heed  the  truth 

His  life-endeavor  teaches  ? 


H.   T.   B. 

T3E  strong  of  heart,  my  genial,  generous 
13      friend! 

And  falter  not  before  this  league  of  crime  : 
I  hear  the  angel  of  the  Coming  Time 
Cry  to  the  nations,  "  This  is  not  the  end !  " 


I  trace  the  patriot's  self-forgetting  thought 
Upon  a  forehead  where  unselfish  care 
And  noble  toiling  leave  the  marks  of  wear ; 
And    generous    feeling  —  pained    or    over 
wrought. 

But  yet  be  strong  !  It  shall  not  be  in  vain  — 
This  wrestling  through  the  darkest  hour  of 

fate, 
For  we   shall  go  through  Triumph's   lifted 

gate 
To  find  our  solace  for  this  night  of  pain  ! 


THE   LAST  POEM. 

O  brave  and  gentle  hero-soul ! 
O  spirit  tender,  tried,  and  true  ! 
How  could  I  close  my  record  here, 
Without  one  little  word  for  you  ? 

Whose  stronger  arm  has  held  me  up, 

Whose   stronger   heart   has   strengthened 
mine, 

Whose  eye  was  always  first  to  see 
The  meaning  of  God's  deep  design ! 

Whose  deeds  were  noble,  first  and  last, 

As  tale  of  ancient  chivalry ; 
Whose  sweet,  exceeding  faithfulness, 

Made  life  so  beautiful  for  me  ! 


152  THE  LAST  POEM. 

Whose  teachings  filled  my  spirit  with 
This  strong,  unfaltering  belief,         • 

That  God's  good  hand  will  save  the  right, 
Through  failure  and  bewildering  grief. 

Ah  !  no  caressing  hand  is  laid 
In  commendation  on  my  head, 

My  soul,  dividing  time  and  space, 
Is  leaning  toward  yours  instead  ! 

I  cannot  think  it  vainly  yearns 

To  reach  you,  though  bereaved  I  stand ; 
Though  it  is  bitter  pain  to  miss 

The  touch  of  your  protecting  hand. 

Not  lost,  but  absent !     Will  you  take 
These  first-fruits  of  a  younger  soul  ? 

You  know  how  long  ago  God  gave 
Its  throbbings  into  your  control. 


THE     END. 


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